Broken Wings
by Anubis81
Summary: Nightmares are only dreams and not the facts of reality. Behind the masks of normality, lurk demons in the shadows. What happens when Munch's mask begins to crack and the nightmare from the past become a reality? abandoned
1. Prologue

'As the hawk is wont to pursue the trembling doves.'

Ovid (Publius Ovidius Naso), Metamorphases (V, 606)

  
  
  


The sound of cars screeching to a sudden stop before a run down warehouse on the Atlantic shoreline shattered the lazily evening world. Car doors slammed closed as dozens of bodies swarmed alongside the building. With their guns drawn and at the ready, the SWAT team rammed the worn door in. "Police!" The officer's timber voice echoed in the poor light inside the warehouse, illuminated only by the stray streams of sunlight penetrating the void as dozens of bodies flooded the room.

"This way, Ang." A petite brunette nodded as she followed the tall form of her partner. "Our perp's hiding in here somewhere, I can feel it in my bones."

"Those old bones? Are you sure it's not a case of phantoms?" She said with a hint of a smile tugging at her voice. She glared sideways, piercing the darkness with the flashlight as she went. Taking a step foward, she stumbled wobbly backwards as hit against a warm brick wall. "Thanks for the warning, _partner_."

He raised an eyebrow, "I'll not dignify that with an answer. Perhaps you'll be kind and enlighten me as to your sudden problem?"

"No problem here, Sweetie."

"Funny, that wasn't the impression I got." He muttered dryly before shining the light back in front of them.

"What a sec, back up a bit." Gripping her partner's arm, "there. Does that look like blood to you?" She pointed to the thick trail of crimson streaming from beneath a nearby crate. 

Stepping closer, he traced one gloved finger in the dark liquid. Bringing it closer, he rubbed the finger with his thumb. "Perpetrator's or victim's?" 

"Going with victim on this one."

"Figures." Shaking his head, he tagged the site with a small neon yellow cone before examining the stack of crates nearby. Vaguely aware of his partner's activities, he set to work prying open the large wooden boxes and sifting through the packing material.

"John," the emotional strain in her voice drew his attention to the opposite side of the crates. Anguish danced across the features of her face as he stepped into view. As she looked up at him, he could see the color draining from her face and tears welling in her eyes. A lone tear slipped down her cheek, "I think that I'm going to be sick."

A young woman lay nude, arranged with her arms nailed against the side of the crates and her legs spread up and open as though an unspoken invitation. Her body was clean of hair beneath the collarbone, waxed away as though it never existed. Strips of her flesh were stapled along the crates' side, dried blood flaking with the most gentle of movements of the wooden boxes. His flashlight illuminated the exposed pieces of muscle and dried organs, decomposing in the humid air.

Looking past the absent flesh of her breasts and further into her body, he noticed the gaping hole inside of her. "Son of a bitch, you've graduated into taking trophies."

"Do you think that it was postmortem?"

He glanced at his partner over the rim of is glasses. "For his sake it had better been." Rubbing the bridge of his nose, "I'm sorry Jessica. We'll get him, I promise." Taking his glasses off, he wiped the moisture from his eyes.

"Detective Munch."

He turned slightly to face the source of the baritone voice, "yes."

"This was found taped to the inside of the warehouse door."

"So give it to one of the other detectives, I'm a bit busy." As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted it. The uniformed officer was still rather green and he should really learn to be more sympathetic to the rookies, but life was a cruel mistress and the sooner the pimple faced kid realized that, the better of a cop he would be. 

"Sorry sir. But its addressed to you, Sir."

Squinting, he nodded his head and quietly accepted the plain manila envelope. "Thanks," he mumbled. Opening the envelope, he sighed as his head slumped in defeat. The familiar handwriting spoke volumes, taunting him with the cat and mouse game.


	2. Chapter 1

(Present day) 

He thrashed beneath the suffocating blankets as beads of sweat covered the length of his body, sticking the soft material to his lean form. A lock of matted dark hair was glued to his forehead as he rolled back and forth across the soft pillowcases. His heart hammered within his chest as soft moans escaped his parched and cracked lips into the thick blanket of silence. He whimpered as his eyes fluttered open and stared into the fathomless world of his bedroom, unseeing.

Thunder rumbled, mixing with a heavy sigh and the last fleeting images of the nightmare as it faded away into oblivion. A bolt of lightening struck across the world outside and splashed blue-white through the curtained window. For a brief moment, the bedroom was illuminated and the shadows were driven back. Snorting in disgust, he switched the bedside light on and all the while scolding himself about irrational fears best left behind, in the past with his childhood. Sliding out from beneath the drenched covers of the bed, he rubbed his face in an attempt to wake up faster. Glancing at the red numbers glowing off the alarmclock, he groaned as his body slowly stretched.

Clutching the soft fabric of the curtains, he stared into the silent world outside the apartment building. Empty streets bathed in a fluorescent orange greeted him in the deserted night as memories descended upon his battered soul. He winced as the countless faces cascaded before his eyes, parading the guilt of failure as they danced grimly by. The enthral apparitions clawed through him, ripping open scars long thought healed after years of persistent and vigilant denial.

Once upon a time the bottle had been excellent distractions from the frailties of the crushing reality of his job. Years of systematic abuse no longer aided him in his eternal quest in fleeing from the faces haunting him, lurking beneath his eyelids every night. With the desertion of the intoxicating spirits laying in wait within the glass bottles or at the bottom of a cup, he had resorted to the next best thing: the mask.

The mask was useless without another brilliant invention of the human psyche: the tongue. He soon found that this crutch fulfilled and guaranteed him the outward appearance he had sought from the beginning, a way for him to deceive those around him. Years of dedicated practice eventually enabled him to deceive the most qualified of head shrinks, thus enabling him to continue doing the one job that he ever knew. For him the job was a catch twenty-two: as much as he hated what his job entailed, he loved it and knew there was really no other he would rather do. After all, how many got to say that they were ones catching the bad guys?

Even with all the work of the mask and the biting sarcasm, he knew his colleagues worried. They were almost as good actors as he, but still not good enough. In a profession dedicated to fishing out the lies from the truths, the years of experience had been a better teacher then he had once believed. He never let on, allowing their illusions rather then crushing them. Life on the job had crushed so many before, who was he to crush one more when they might need it as a safety net: something to discuss in hushed whispers and behind his back. He never minded the gossip as long as it was far away from the truth.

His head slumped in defeat, knowing that sleep was forever out of his reach for the night. Wandering aimlessly through the Spartan apartment, he noted the date circled in red on the calendar: not that he needed a reminder. The first case as a true detective, fresh out of the starting gate and he had failed. His finger slowly traced the dates from start to finish, remembering every crime scene in all their horrific glory. It wasn't enough that it had been his first case, but that the case had spanned almost his entire career before and no clue as to the perpetrator's identity or motives had been found to date. After an infamous spree, the case had suddenly stopped. The cat and mouse game had stopped, vanished as though it had never existed at all.

Grief flooded him as guilt swelled within his heart. Breathing deeply, he stared at the bold numbers printed on the calender hanging on the wall as they blurred into a black blob. His hands balled into fists at his sides, digging into the numb flesh of his palms. A soft, inaudible whimper escaped his parched lips as he stared through the walls and into the recesses of his mind. Unsolved cases were a part of the job and many had theirs, but this one was rarely far from his mind. Unconsciously, he sought similarities in any case that made its way across his desk. Whether it was for the victims or his own sanity, he was unable to say for sure. The demons were constantly there, fluttering at the edges of his mind and waiting for him at night.

He surrendered to the demands of his protesting body as he made his way into the living room, hoping that something would be on that would take away the demons for one more night. Skipping past the news channels quickly and needing the diversion of fantasy televison, he settled in lying across the couch. As he searched, his mind wandered back over two decades and the victim lying in the warehouse. With the memories came the smell of stale air perfumed with the lingering scent of killer's last victim. He shuddered as the information from the cold case file surfaced in his sleep deprived brain.

Jessica Marylin Myers had been an aspiring art student with the gift of Rembrandt, so he had been told by all those that knew her.The middle child of Thomas and Eve Myer's three children had been a bright beacon of hope in the family's home in the rundown urban area of Baltimore, Maryland. At age eighteen she had been accepted into Juliart and was working at the local Chevron gas station for minimum wage in the hopes of renting an apartment near the arts school. Dedicating her free time to her studies, Jessica had no time to socialize outside school.

Her parents had waited until the following day to notify authorities that their responsible daughter had not returned home the night before after getting off work at the gas station. At first the Baltimore Police had treated her case as a Missing Persons, but within a few hours a uniformed patrol officer had radioed the location of Jessica's missing truck into dispatch. The nineteen eighty-nine mauve Chevy truck was parked along the highway, only thirteen miles away from her parents' home. It wasn't until the following day that G had assigned him the case, not knowing that it would end up in the file cabinet with the other cases connected to the latest serial killer.

Looking back with hindsight, perhaps his old homicide captain had known that it was one of the killer's victims after all. He smiled to himself, it wasn't everyday one met a man who could make an order sound like a dying man's last request. A frown spread across his face as he pictured his late friend, funny how things turned out. He had always thought that he would be the one killed on the job and not the gentle man. To make matters worse for him, he felt guilty for being in New York when G was murdered. Although Baltimore was only a two hour train ride away, it had felt like a world away.

Going back to Charm City was as hard as hearing the news when he had gotten the phone call. With all the found memories at the shop and at the Waterfront, they were equally balanced with the bad as well. He had met and married his ex-wives, the burnt bridges and the unsolved cases were always waiting there for him every time he thought of Baltimore. After the funeral, he had walked along the Atlantic shoreline and the memories had come back. With each step, images of the elusive killer's victims came back to haunt him. The poltergeist conjured in his mind belittled him with guilt for not solving their cases and bringing their murderer to justice. On the train ride back to Penn station, he pushed them back into the dark recesses of his mind.

Sighing, he flipped the channel as an info commercial came on the set. Glancing at the clock, he groaned as he realized that it was only a little after one in the morning. Rubbing his tired eyes, he stopped suddenly and checked the clock again. It was officially Jessica's anniversary, sixteen years down to the day and hour of her disappearance from the small gas station. It seemed to him that the ghosts would never leave him alone as the illuminated red numbers blurred together.

A/N

This chapter beta-ed by Perfect Velvet


	3. Chapter 2

The growing light of the day filtered inside the Spartan apartment far above the city sidewalks, rousing him from his slumber. Blurry eyes blinked as his tired eyes opened from the dreamless slumber. Stretching, he clicked off the television set before wandering into the apartment's bathroom. Hollow eyes gazed back at him in the mirror's reflection as the day loomed before him. A faint smile spread across his features as the cool water from the sink was splashed across his face. "No rest for the wicked, huh?" Munch asked himself as he dried his face before wandering back into his bedroom.

The closet door swung open to reveal the seemingly endless ocean of dark shirts and suits. Frowning, his fingers traced over several ties on the inside wall before selecting one. Turning to stand before the mirror, he frowned before choosing another. After several minutes of contemplation, he gazed absently into the mirror again. Satisfied with the outfit, Munch made his way into the kitchen. As the coffee maker heated, he sat at the table lost in oblivion. Lost in his thoughts, the knocking on his apartment door went unanswered as spilt coffee sizzled on the coffee maker's burner.

The loud buzzing of the door bell broke through the thick silence he had lost himself in. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Munch strolled lazily to the apartment door. "Yes?"

"Sorry to disturb you, but the mail man delivered your mail to me by mistake. I was wondering if you had a chance to check yours, just in case mine is there."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Reed, but I haven't been downstairs yet."

The elderly woman smiled at him, "that's okay dear. When you get a chance, give me a call."

"Promise." He smiled weakly before closing the door. Leaning against the door, Munch sighed. "It is going to be a _long_ day."

Leaving the coffee pot untouched, Munch slipped his coat on before walking out of the apartment. The door slammed behind as he walked down the hallway. "Mr. Munch?"

Munch stopped at the landing and turned in the direction of the voice. "Yes?"

"I just wanted to remind you about Mrs. Evers Christmas party next week. I was hoping that we'd see you there."

"More then likely, unless work calls. Good day, Ms. Starling." His footsteps echoed in the quiet morning as he descended the staircase. Stopping momentarily to check the post, Munch drew his coat tightly around himself as he stepped out into the crisp morning. A cloud of hot air trickled from his mouth, engulfing the empty air before and slowly evaporated. Ignoring the cold creeping into his bones, Munch stepped to the curb of the cracked sidewalk and hailed a cab.

Closing the door behind him, Munch gave the woman the address to the police precinct. The cab driver nodded her head before turning into the Monday morning traffic. Static filled the silent atmosphere of the cab in between the verbal traffic of the cab's radio. Munch frowned slightly as he stared out the window, if his car wasn't in the shop he could've driven himself in. Fin had offered to pick him up in the morning, but he had wanted the time alone to think. With his partner around, it always seemed to Munch that the noise from Fin's presence distracted him to no end.

December was the worst month, a month that always brought back all the pain. The nightmares always seemed to be worse in the twelfth month, the cases always appeared to be the worst. Although it could have been the result of his own state of mind manifesting, Munch didn't know and his distrust of psychologists in general prevented him from seeking Hung's counsel.

Munch shook his head sadly as the cab driver drove them past an endless sea of flags hanging in the shops windows along the densely packed street. He found it ironic that a country such as this could suffer such a drastic decline of patriotism and only have a surge to such a state of popularity that mirrored the wake of the attack on Pearl Harbor with another major, unexpected tragedy on native soil. Munch was privately afraid. Afraid not so much for his personal welfare, but rather for the direction of the country itself. His instincts quivered at the thought of the direction his countrymen were taking.

Being a man of few real beliefs, Munch always tried to prepare himself for the worst case scenario. As he followed the news, Munch's instincts cried out to him that all the protest rallies he'd attended and participated in during his college days, had in the end achieved nothing. Not that he was really surprised, if he was honest with himself. Even with the proof being spewed out over the televison and radio or seeing it written in the papers, Munch didn't feel like gloating. For him, the events taking shape around the world and in his own country were obviously predictable. After paying the driver, Munch closed the passenger door.

As the cab drove away behind him, Munch climbed the stairs to the building's front doors. The glass door swung lazily close behind him as he walked past the desk sergeant with an absentminded "morning." As he waited for the elevator doors to slide open, his thoughts strayed to the case they were currently working.

Three weeks ago a concerned neighbor had dialed nine-one-one after hearing an argument across the hall of her apartment. The neighbor had informed the operator that only after hearing a gunshot that she had been prompted to summon authorities. When the uniformed officers had arrived on the scene, the discovered thirty-four year old Mary Ellen Finnie dead on her living room floor. The medical examiner had ruled her cause of death as the result of single gunshot wound to the back of her head.

It was only after a neighbor had inquired into the welfare of Ms. Finnie's three children had the chief of detectives redistributed the case to the Special Victims Unit. A week had past without any promising leads as to the location of the missing children or Ms. Finnie's killer. For all intense purposes the case had gone colder then a well digger's ass in January as far as Munch could see. The elevator door chimed as its doors slid open to admit him.

Stepping inside, he absently pushed the button that would bring him to the floor that housed the squad room. If the case was frustrating for him, Munch could see the frustration in the eyes of Elliot Stabler. As he watched the younger man, Munch felt only sympathy for the man as the case stretched out and days were spent desperately trying to dig up a lead.

The elevator doors chimed as the floor beneath him jerked gently as he arrived in the hallway leading to the squad room. The sound of ringing phones filled his ears as Munch stepped into the hallway. As he walked into the squad, Munch slipped off his coat and hung it on the coat rack as Captain Cragen approached. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the anguished expression on the other man's face. On instinct, Munch winced inwardly and waited for the evitable.

"John, the ME's office just called and they say that they may have some new information on the Finnie murder. Fin is already there, but I want you down there as well." As Cragen spoke, he fished in his pants pocket before withdrawing a set of keys. "Bring her back in one peice, Detective." He said, handing the keys to his car the seasoned detective.

Rolling his eyes, Munch quietly accepted the key ring as he retrieved his jacket from the coat rack. Nodding his head, he quietly retreated back in the direction that he had just come from. As he reached for the button on the elevator, the metal doors slid open.

"Good morning, John." Olivia smiled warmly at him as up at her from the panel. "Where are you headed this early in the morning?"

"Warner's office called, the boss wants me to get down there." Munch shrugged nonchalantly as he brushed past her into the elevator. Not waiting for or wanting a response, he pushed the button. Olivia's bewildered face slipped away as the metal doors slid closed. Munch quietly belittled himself for the treatment he'd just given to Olivia as the elevator hummed. It wasn't like him, he knew, to bring his personnel life into the squad room or to vent his frustrations out on those he worked with. He rather relied on his dry wit and intelligence to draw suspicion away from the truth. Munch had long ago learned that more people believed they knew him, the less they really did. He absently pushed the button that would take him to precinct's lobby as his mind wandered.

As the elevator hummed, descending further to the ground floor, Munch fought the idea that perhaps the old case had effected him more then he had first thought. An objective bystander might have argued that the detective's past experiences had helped him in current position with the Special Victims Unit and helped protect him, keeping him from allowing his personal feelings to interfere with the job at hand like his colleagues Detective Stabler or even Benson. By conscious allowing himself to 'feel' for the suspects of these crimes, Munch felt that he served the victims' better when the accused persons were in his interrogation room.

The elevator whined, grating on his nerves as floor after floor passed him just on the other side of the doors. Munch had read enough textbooks on psychology to realize that he was the perfect example for transference. Unconsciously, he shock his head knowing that he was the last person who should be psychoanalyzing the innermost workings of his brain. With his rationalization was simple to his mind, he distrusted many professionals. Hung would casually explain in his almost childlike empathy that the suspects that were routinely interrogated by any member of the law enforcement community, those personally by himself, that he was subconsciously substituting strong emotions probably felt since his adolescence onto the criminal element enlarge that he came across.

The floor beneath him jerked slightly as the elevator came to stop at the building's ground floor. The doors slid effortlessly open to reveal the morning traffic at the precinct's lobby. Munch stepped out of the confining space, absentmindedly as he made his way outside the building. Lost in his thoughts, he was unaware of the desk sergeant calling his name as the glass doors swung slowly closed behind him. His eyes scrunched together beneath the overwhelming bright glare of the morning sun as he waited for his glasses to tint. "It's going to be a _long_ day," he sighed.


	4. Chapter 3

The drive to the Medical Examiner's was long and boring to the veteran detective, like so many other things that had lost their sparkle. He had stalwartly put his thoughts to the side as he focused on the road, scratching the captain's car was never an option one ever took. With only the police scanner as his companion for the ride, Munch had resorted to watching the people he had passed. Despite several failed marriages and countless lost loves, he envied the majority of people that he passed or rather passed him as he waited for the traffic light to turn. Everywhere he looked, Munch say saw the oblivious and intoxicating effects of what he had sought all his adult life: love. In a city as populated as Manhattan, he felt as though he were the odd ball out as couples seemed to crawl out of the woodwork and flaunt the priceless commodity before him.

As the holiday steadily approached, Munch felt the bitter taste of loneliness creep back into his heart. Guilt quickly followed in suit as he practiced the mask of denial, bracing himself for friendly inquires into his plans and whether he would like to join this co-worker or that for the holiday celebration. In the short years that he had worked in SVU, Stabler and the others would never fell to politely invite him to join in their celebration and every year he would politely decline, frequently resorting to lying. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy their company, but rather the opposite. While he enjoyed their company and often shared after work drinks with the other detectives, Munch savored the comforting guilt that the month brought him. To him the guilt was always an old friend come to visit after an overly long absence. The traffic light wavered as it changed to green.

Accelerating through the intersection, his mind briefly wondered over the case at hand. To his overworked and underspent mind, the case seemed pretty cut and dry. What could the medical examiner tell them that wasn't obvious in Ms. Finnie's death? A quite and persistent voice whispered in the dark recesses of his mind, a voice that he had learned long ago to listen to as each new case found its way onto his desk and each new clue led him to the suspect like a trail of bread crumbs. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Munch sighed as his concentration was irrevocably shattered as the minivan in front of him collided with a semi-truck. Slamming on the brakes, "who opened the flood gates?!"

Mumbling to himself, Munch pulled the car off to the shoulder before shifting it into park. He let the door bounce back and forth on its hinges as he climbed outside the car, he bit his lip in frustration as the seat belt restrained him and pulled him back to the driver's seat. Grumbling as he pushed the release, Munch shook his head. "Anything else?" He asked no one in particular as he slammed the door behind him. Irritation showed on his face as he stalked towards the steaming vehicles. Munch's nose twitched as he drew closer to the minivan and noticed the disheveled driver's attention was focused on the back seats. Peering through the smokey windows, Munch felt his gut instinctively clench. He felt as though a ton of bricks had him, knocking him for a loop as the air was roughly squashed from his lungs.

The world around them decompose, fading to black as he was jerked away from reality. He could easily stomach the straight out murders, especially those related to drugs. He had discovered when he joined the Special Victims Unit that it was the living victims that really got to a person. One thing had stayed the same when he had transferred to the unit, the worst cases involved children. Dialing on his cell phone for help, Munch quickly circled the minivan. Tucking the object between his shoulder and ear, Munch groaned out loud at both the sight that greeted him and the continuous ringing. "Come on already!" Today was definitely one of those days that he hated living in New York, Munch decided as he waited for the operator. As he waited, Munch desperately clung to the youthful aspirations of a job that he had once loved and believed that one person _could_ make a difference in, a job that had become bittersweet to the taste.

During the collision, the sliding door on the minivan had been bent inward and the whole side of the vehicle looked like only sheer will was keeping it from collapsing onto itself. He was absently aware of other cars pulling to the side of the busy street and a motorist putting out flares somewhere behind the scene. A hand fell on his shoulder, startling him. Turning, he noted the young man that had placed the flares standing behind him. "I managed to get through on the CB radio in truck," he indicted the Ford Explorer parked behind the detective's car. "They're en route."

Munch nodded his head as he collapsed his cell phone and tucked it into his pocket. "Direct traffic then until a uniformed officer gets here." He said before turning his attention back to the minivan.

"Going to need the jaws of life to get into there."

"A crowbar should suffice. Do you have one?" Munch asked, keeping his eyes on the pair inside the vehicle. The mother was shaking her ten year old daughter in the van, oblivious to the help waiting outside the crushed minivan.

"No, I'll ask around though." The man said as he started to walk away.

Munch tapped on the glass, trying in vain to attract the mother's attention. Frustrated, he looked around for something to smash the window in, but thought better of it since he didn't know the extent of the injuries and didn't want to cause any further harm if possible. Knocking harder on the window, Munch suddenly froze. Dark crimson blood was pooling out on the seat around the child. "Please, God." Munch prayed silently as he turned to find the young man that had promised him a crowbar.

A light tap on his shoulder made Munch turn on his heel in mid-step. "Here you go, one crowbar as promised."

Munch spared him a quick nod as he reached for the tool. As he pried his way into the collapsed side of the minivan, Munch fought the panic that was swelling inside of him as the child's blood dribbled across the seat and dripped onto the floor mat below. The child's mother screamed in his ear as smoke curled from beneath the vehicle. Wincing, Munch reigned in the instinct to scream back at the hysterical woman pawing on his arms and hindering him from reaching the trapped child. Without taking his attention off the injured child, Munch absently slapped the woman's face as though she were nothing but a fly bothering him. "Shut up!" He let his voice convey the anger, frustration and fear that his face was unable to say as he searched his pockets for the pocketknife kept there.

In all of his years on the force, Munch knew that no one had ever thought of him as craven. Though he always preferred using the issued firearm when situations called for the use of violence, Munch had always felt a small measure of security in the knowledge that the pocketknife was there. Though the small length of the blade would cause little damage in reality, it was a piece of personal history carried over from his childhood. It had ceased to amaze him how handy the small weapon was in situations such as these. Flipping the blade open, Munch began to saw at the seatbelt.

Somehow he knew that the other detectives would be unable to relate to him, their eyes were still blinded as far as Munch could see. In addition to the obvious age gap that placed him in the awkward position of playing the role of big brother to Captain Cragen's father figure role, the SVU detectives lacked his experience and thus they wouldn't understand the motives behind his reasoning. Munch sighed, knowing that the burden was his and his alone. The demons were his to fight, his alone.

The seatbelt snapped as the tension was abruptly broke. Pushing the mother out of his way, Munch checked the girl over as best as he could. His heart broke with each of the child's plntive whimpers as he pushed some discarded newspapers from the floorboards to the gushing wound on the child's side. What had caused the injury, Munch wasn't able to see with the girl in the way. As he opened his mouth to ask the helpful young man what the ETA on the ambulance was, he heard the first wail of the sirens as they approached from somewhere up ahead of the accident. Relief flooded him as the wail grew louder and he packed more newspaper between his hand and the rushing geyser. Oblivious to the world outside of the hurt child, smoke slowly drifted into the minivan from the floorboards.

The van rocked as the paramedics stepped inside, "what do we have?"

"What the hell does it look like?!" Munch snapped as he rolled his eyes. "She's lost a lot of blood, I didn't see what caused the injury." He said, keeping his voice as neutral as possible.

The dirty blonde paramedic nodded to himself as he began to pack the wound with cotton. "Alright, we'll take it from here."

Stepping back, Munch moved out of the way as another paramedic approached the van. He watched as they worked on the girl from his post on the sidewalk, oblivious to the red stain on his hands. "Please," he whispered.

As the paramedics worked on the child, another ambulance had pulled up. Within moments they were treating the hysterical mother and the shocked truck driver. A marked squad car had pulled up behind the accident site and a uniformed officer had taken over directing traffic. Light grey wisps of smoke curled around the minivan's tires, dissipating in the chilly December wind. Munch watched as the paramedics began to slowly carry the child from the van. A tap on his arm drew his attention away from the nightmarish scene. "Yes?"

"Mr. Gibson said that you were on the scene before him, Mr.....?"

"Munch. Detective John Munch, and yes I was."

"Sorry, Detective." The young officer said, "we'll need your statement, sir."

"Of course," Munch grumbled as he followed the auburn haired officer back to the squad car. "More paperwork, always more paperwork." Munch grumbled to himself as they approached the squad car.

A fire engine screeched to a stop next to an ambulance as hell erupted on earth. The minivan exploded in flames as the last paramedic took the first step onto the sidewalk. Flames roared suddenly to life, engulfing the crumbling shell of the vehicle. The back board was haphazardly thrown to the side as the paramedics were thrown from the force of the explosion. The child screamed as she collided with a cement pillar and was bounced back to the cemented sidewalk. Strapped to the back board, all she could was cry as the pain rocketed through her traumatized body. A fresh trail of blood streamed down the side of her face and pooled on the glass littered sidewalk.

The raven haired paramedic crawled on his hands and knees across the river of broken shards of glass to reach his partner's side. Turning the dirty blonde over, he listened for a heartbeat before pounding on his chest. "Come on, Mike, come on!" His bruised and scratched hands clenched together in a fist as he performed CPR on the lifeless body. "Fight, fight Mike! I know you can hear me,_ fight_ _damn you_!" His voice croaked with emotion as he was pulled away by another paramedic and he was forced to watch someone else work on his partner. "_Fight_!"

When the minivan had exploded, the second ambulance crew abandoned their patients and hurried to the flaming ball of metal across the street Unaware of the already injured child, they descended on the injured paramedics in blur of activity. As the ambulance driver pulled the raven haired paramedic away from the his partner, the second paramedic bent to work on the fallen one. "Shut _and_ be still, Jesse will do everything he can for your partner." The ambulance driver said as he pinned the raven haired paramedic's arms behind his back, stray streams of water fell from the heavens above and onto the group.

The firefighters had swarmed from the engine as the first flames erupted as it quickly consumed the minivan. They had to raced to circled the van with the hose. The knowledge that there were four lives at stake, sitting on the opposite side of the vehicle and near the gas tank, seemed to give them the edge that they needed to beat back the flames. As he circled the flaming blob, Steven heard a plaintive cry from behind a nearby planter. Gripping the axe in his hand, he slowly circled the cemented pea-gravel. Steven's eyes widened as he sank to his knees next to the wailing child. "Shh,....it's going to be okay." He patted his pockets until he found the small black two-radio. Pressing in the button, "sir, I've got an injured child here on your one o'clock beneath the...." His voice trailed off as he glanced upwards, "beneath the Bank Of America sign. It looks like the paramedics were just bringing her out when the minivan went."

"Copy. We'll try and get someone over there."

"Ah, what should I do in the meantime?" Steven asked uncertainly as he glanced at the sobbing child.

"Don't move her, the planter there is blocking her. Just talk to her, hold her hand. Hell, tell her a story."

Steven swallowed hard, he wasn't suppose to be the one in this situation. It was only his first day on the job and he hadn't expected to be doing something like this yet. His head hurt from searching for a suitable story and the heat from the burning fire seemed to only compound the fact. Inhaling deeply, Steven took of his helmet as he began with the only four words that he could come up with. "Once upon a time......"

The ground rumbled behind him as he spoke with the uniformed officer. Turning in time to see the minivan engulfed in flames, Munch felt a hand on his shoulder pulling him backwards. His eyebrows scrunched together as went unresisting with the guiding force behind him, "Wha....?!" He felt as though some titanic force was sucking him into a void as he fell unceremoniously to the cracked sidewalk.

"Sorry, Detective." The officer apologized as he offered a hand to help up. Munch accepted the assistance. "There wasn't a lot of time and..." He trailed off as Munch waved him off and started towards the eruption of flames. "Detective, I really think you ought to wait until the firefighters have got it under control."

Shrugging off the uniformed officer, Munch charged towards the flaming minivan. This was one of those days that all he wanted was to turn in his badge and walk off the face of the planet.

A/N

AKIKO Thanks for the review. As this is a work in progress, I cannot make any promises. But my outline tells me that Munch might have a few moments off happiness in future chapters. As Munch is normally a angsty character to begin with, I am trying to keep him character as much as possible.

HR puffnstuff Thanks for the review. I really appreciate them, it makes posting worth whiled to know that there are others who enjoy the story as well.


	5. Chapter 4

The hospital always smelled funny to him, all the sterilization appeared to have warped the air that choked its way into his lungs. His hands burned beneath the salve and the bandages that the obnoxious Medical Assistant had insisted that he have before she would consider consulting the doctor when he had demanded to be left alone and allowed to leave. Munch gritted his teeth as the insistent itching started driving him made as the medical assistant ruffled through a file cabinet for at home care for his burns. Looking back with hindsight, he had to wonder if he had indeed what Ang had called a "death wish." Shaking his head, Munch accepted the material as he pushed himself onto his feet.

"Get your boney ass up already."

Munch scowled at the figure filling the doorway to his room. "What the hell do you want?"

The figure glanced curiously at the medical assistant. "What kind of drugs you give him? He's acting halfway human for the first time ever!"

"Very funny, Fin. Just get me out of here, now."

"Bossy isn't he? Oh, well, that's get a move on it then." Fin sighed as he stepped back into the hallway and waited for his partner. "Too bad they couldn't transplant a nice set of manners while they had you."

Munch rolled his eyes and brushed past the detective, heading straight for reception desk of the hospital's Emergency Room. "I definitely need to start attending Temple."

"That's new, what brought that one?"

"You see that _nurse_," as he pointed to a woman moving behind the reception counter. The nurse's gray hair was done up in a fashionable bun and a pair of spectacles was balanced on the tip of her nose. "That my friend is the incarnation of Satan's spawn."

"You need some serious help.' The nurse glared at them as Munch walked stiffly up to her. Leaning against the chest high counter, Munch rested both his bandaged hands carefully next to the buzzer. "What does it take to get out of here?"

The nurse sighed as she passed him a clipboard, "fill this out." Circling a word on the bottom page of the sheet, "full signature here." Shaking her head, the nurse walked away.

"Regular Florence Nightingale, isn't she?" Fin snorted as he followed his partner to Chairs and calmly watched Munch try and hold the pen in his clubbed hand. "Want some help?"

"If its not beyond your scope of skills," he replied.

Taking the clipboard from his partner, "name?" Fin chuckled softly at the glare that his partner gave him. As he quietly filled out the paperwork, "what in the name of all that is holy were you thinking when you charged into that mess?"

"What are you babbling on about now?"

"Don't answer my question with a question, damn it. I want to know exactly what you were thinking, John."

"I wasn't."

"Wasn't what?"

"I _wasn't_ thinking, Fin. I just reacted, that's all. Case closed."

"I'm starting to worry about you, Partner."

"Only starting?"

"Damn it John, I'm trying to be serious here for a minute!"

"I know that, but you realize that we're still in a hospital."

"Yeah, so?"

"I think that they can give you something for that."

"For being serious?"

"Yes."

Fin sighed as he finished filling out the sheet. After an hour of waiting for his partner, Dr. Warner had started in on the new evidence that she had found during the autopsy and had handed him the report. Worried, Fin had waited in front of the Medical Examiner's building for his partner. As he went over the written report, Fin had turned on the radio in hopes that the music would sooth his nerves. Halfway into first song, the radio DJ had made the announcement. A few seconds later he had gotten a call from the captain informing him that his partner wasn't going to be able to make it to the ME's.

Fin wove through the morning traffic until he found himself at the hospital, only to be held back by an obnoxious nurse that informed him that his partner was being treated for mild burns to his hands and smoke inhalation. He had spent over an hour pacing the Chairs as he waited for news on Munch's condition. The captain had called him for an update and had echoed his thoughts when Fin had summarized what little information he had been able to glean from the uniformed officers on the site. "You know, I've known John a bit longer then you. But from what you just told me, I would swear that you were actually talking about someone else. I've never heard of him acting like that," Cragen had said.

"I know Captain, it's like he was possessed or something. I'm worried about him," Fin had replied after a short pause.

"I think that when you two get back to the house, I'll schedule sometime for Munch on Huang's couch."

"But would he talk to him or just say what he thinks we all want to hear?"

"That's the problem with him, Fin." The captain had said before he hung up the phone and severed the connection on his end.

Sitting next to his partner now, Fin was careful to not show any of his concern. It was common knowledge that Munch shunned such feelings directed towards him. The elder detective was infamous of his treatment of those who pitied him or showed any emotion about his well-being. Sometimes, Fin felt as though his partner hid behind a fortified wall, daring people to attempt to break through. After the initial breaking in period as partners, an unspoken comradeship had quickly developed between the pair. It was common knowledge at the station house that if you messed with one half of the detective team, you had to knock heads with the other half.

With the detective team of Stabler and Benson, everyone could feel the sexual tension there. It was common knowledge that if Elliot Stabler wasn't married, Olivia Benson would have him stuffed and mounted by now. How they had managed to establish a workable and professional relationship amidst the sea of electricity was beyond his comprehension. Some how they had managed to, despite the odds stacked against them. The detective team of Fin and Munch was different though.

Fin had learned the hard way that December was a hard month for his partner, even though he could tell that Munch tried to hid behind his sarcasm. By the second year of their partnership, Fin had stopped asking about Munch's holiday plans and had stopped trying to get the veteran detective to socialized during the cold month. Whatever event or events that haunted him, Fin didn't know. He hoped that one year his partner would tell him, but with the way things were going, it didn't look like this would be the year."I'll meet you at the car as soon as I give this back to _Lucifina_." Fin grinned at his partner as he pried himself up from the hard plastic chair.

Munch spared his partner's backside a small nod as he headed for the Emergency Room exit. He ignored the sympathetic looks that a passerby had given him as he wound his way through the hospital's parking lot until he found the dark Sedan. Munch sighed as he reached for the passenger doorhandle and mentally braced himself for the inevitable pain that would quickly follow with a deep breath. He had gone against the doctor's advice and refused the pain medication. Munch knew that Cragen would confine him to a desk and at the worst send him home. In his opinion, the burns were only superficial and didn't warrant the fuss that it had generated. His hand stung as he gripped the doorhandle and pulled the passenger door open. He cringed as his hand flared up, it seemed as though it were buried beneath an ocean of glowing red coals. Munch was immediately glad that his partner was nowhere in sight or that anyone else he knew wasn't around. With everything that already happened that morning, Munch wasn't sure if he could tolerate sympathy or pity.

Fin lingered in the shadows of the doorway of the Emergency Room and watched his partner's face twist in pain. He fought the overwhelming urge to rush to the veteran detective's assistance, but he knew that his unasked for helping hand would be as welcomed as a snowflake in Hell. So, Fin watched from a far as his partner struggled through the pain alone. Fin held the prescription for Munch's painkillers tightly against his thigh as he waited for time to pass by before considering approaching his partner. The paper crunched, wrinkling in his grip as he held it tighter with each agonizing passing second of Munch's obvious pain. Fin's heart ached as he watched his partner double over in the front seat of the Sedan, agony was clearly making itself home on the detective's face. Sighing in resignation, Fin slowly made his way through the vast maze of parked cars and across the parking lot. 

The drive back to the station house was a quiet one as each man was absorbed in his own individual thoughts. A light drizzle of rain fell from the gray heavens as if the detectives' moods had invoked the turn in the weather. Fin quietly worried about his partner's mental health and cast covertly, worried glances at the older detective when the opportunities arose. Munch felt himself sinking further and further into the familiar bleak abyss as he stared out the passenger window. A part of him wanted to confide his demons to his partner, but he was used to drowning in his own problems and letting in Fin or anyone else would mean exposing a part of himself that he had always tried to cut out and kill.

Munch was startled from his thoughts as the Sedan came to a stop outside the station house. His seatbelt clicked softly before snapping back as it retreated across his chest. He bit his lip as he opened the passenger door, closing it behind him with a push from his elbow and Fin turned the ignition off. Stepping out onto the asphalt of the parking lot, Munch absently noted that Cragen's car had been retrieved as he stalked quietly up the steps. His hand stung with new venom as he pulled the heavy glass door open and oblivious to the concerned look on his partner's face as it swung lazily closed behind him. Munch ignored the balding desk sergeant and the various uniformed officers passing through the lobby as he calmly walked towards the elevators.

He glared at the button panel before turning his attention to his bandaged hands. The insistently burning had begun to fade as he contemplated relighting the fire. "Can I help you, Detective?"

Munch nodded, inwardly admitting defeat to himself as he allowed the officer to help him. "Yes, I can't seem to push the damn button." His verbal admittance cut deeply, wounding his pride.

"Up or down, Detective?"

"Up please."

The officer nodded her head as she pushed the upward arrow. "Anything else?"

Munch bit back the stinging reply that was sitting on the tip of his tongue. "No, thank you."

She nodded, "anytime."

Munch shook his head as he watched the officer walk away and his partner round the corner. "I see you didn't have too much trouble finding me," Munch tiredly baited.

"Its your animal magnetism that gave your boney white ass away." Fin said as he leaned against the wall and waited for the elevator.

Though his appearance suggested that he was at ease, Munch could almost see the wheels turning in Fin's head. An uneasy silence stretched between the two detectives as the impatiently waited for the elevator. As the seconds stretched slowly by, Munch kept glancing at his partner from the corner of his eye. Something kept telling him that the street-wise detective may have found a crack in his carefully constructed mask. The elevator chimed a moment before the metal doors slid open on invisible ropes. Fin brushed past him, into the elevator and leaned against the handrail as Munch followed him quietly. The twin metal doors slid closed as Fin pushed the correctly numbered button that would take them to the level that housed the SVU squad room. Munch felt like an animal being led to slaughter in the prime of his life. Neither man spoke as the elevator steadily rose before chiming again as its doors opened.

A visibly concerned Captain Cragen was waiting for the two detectives as the metal doors slowly rolled open. "My office, now." He said before turning and walking stiffly towards the squad room. Fin avoided his partner's eyes, feeling as though he had ratted out his best friend for a crime that he didn't commit. Walking ahead of Munch, he missed the resignation in the older man's eyes as the wove their way through the maze of desks. Keeping his eyes fixed ahead of him, Munch missed Detective Benson's sympathetic look as she watched him file behind Fin. Breaking her gaze, she looked upward at her partner. Detective Elliot Stabler trailed off on his conversation with a uniformed sergeant as he too watched the defeated form of his colleague being marched into the Captain's office like a naughty school boy having been sent to the principal's office for fighting. Stabler glanced down and met his partner's gaze as the trio of officers disappeared into the office. The concern in his eyes mirrored hers.

Munch's shoulders slumped as Cragen closed the office door behind them. From the corner of his eye, he watched Fin cross the room to stand by the far wall and the captain move behind his desk. An overwhelming feeling of disaster hung over him as waited for the dull blade of the executioner's axe to fall.

Author's Note

Vertigo Thanks for the review. I have a funny feeling the angst is going to continue. (I mean, do I write anything but? lol) Hopefully in the next couple of chapters we'll start to see some plot starting to develop.


	6. Chapter 5

Letting out the breath that she hadn't known she was holding, Benson collapsed in her chair. She watched as Fin closed the window shades, shutting the rest of the squad room outside. Concern creased her brow as she stared blankly at the open case file before her. It wasn't everyday that they came close to losing a member of their family, but when it did happen a few drinks after shift usually washed away the fear for time being.

Of all the people she had known, Munch had always been the practical one. The one that, beneath the fathomless theories of conspiracy, he was always the level-headed one of their squad. They could always count on the older detective to steer them away from the cliff's edge as they tittered on the thin lines. But the events of the day had shattered her illusion of the man of steel she had always seen him as.

A shaky sob escaped her lips at the thought of losing the man that had become a surrogate brother. They had been together so long, longer then any other department she had worked with and she could feel the twang of the bond between them grow taunt. The words on the file sheet blurred into a swirl of letters as tears streamed down her face and reality crashed down upon her. Benson wondered when this bond had formed and what would happen if something were to happen to Munch. She felt as though she had no control of things in the area of her life which concentrated around her friends in the squad.

Benson knew that she wouldn't hesitate to take her partner's place, taking the proverbial bullet for him whenever the opportunity decreed to present itself. Only she never really thought that she would trade places so eagerly or willingly with any other member of the squad. The unspoken agreement between the personnel was common knowledge and saying the words was completely different from both meaning them and following through with one's own actions. That thought alone scared her beyond any experience she had previously known.

Through hooded eyes she watched her partner stroll absently towards their desks. Puzzled, Benson concentrated on the beating of her own heart as he approached. Benson stubbornly racked her brains for an honest answer to her riddle. The riddle being: why wasn't her heart racing as fast as before when ever Stabler drew near? Normally, the slightest thought of her partner was enough to satisfy the most primal desires as she lay awake and alone in her bed at night. She could never quite figure out which was worse; seeing the man she loved and working at his side throughout the day, unable to touch or being alone and without him at the night as she wrestled for sleep.

But now as he sat across from her, Benson's mind was filled with another man. Though the thoughts were not of desire, but rather of fear. Munch's close call with the Grim Reaper had awaken fears she thought that were long forgotten and best buried. If the man she saw as indestructible brushed with his own mortality, then they were all as vulnerable.

The thought of losing Stabler or anyone else crushed her heart. After all, good was suppose to triumph and the cowboy always rode away into the sunset. Reality wasn't the movies however and Benson desperately wanted to crawl back into the foggy world of make-believe, to forget everything. She sighed, returning her attention back to the file waiting before her and missed the concerned look in the familiar blue eyes across from her.

Stabler watched his partner for a moment, concern flashing in his eyes. With the separation from Cathy and the kids, the detectives' relationship had changed. On the surface they were still the same solid gung-ho team that skewered the city streets for their suspects, but beneath was a different tale. It seemed to Stabler that his partner was slowly drifting away from him as though she should share in the blame with the troubles he was having at home. True they had fought vigorously and Cathy had mentioned Benson's name more then a few times, but he knew that his partner wasn't at fault.

With Munch's close call, Stabler slowly began to realize just how easily any of them could wind up on the ME's slab. Sitting across from one of the most important women in his life, he was unable to voice his concern about her well-being without sounding like he was hitting on her. He chuckled to himself remembering that at one point he thought that he was invincible and was immune to the woes faced by the rest of the world. Stabler knew that if he didn't say something or he said the wrong thing, he would lose. Whether it was losing his partner or his wife, the answer still remained beyond his reach. The only thing clear to the ex-soldier was that he was afraid of the answer.

The detective team sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts and both unaware that the same subject weighed heavily on the other's mind. Both were afraid of what might happen if they were to take a chance and go out on an untested limb for the other. Each had felt the addictive adrenaline rush pulsing just beneath their skins as Cragen delivered the disturbing news about their brother detective and each sought comfort in the cold papers cluttered before them, afraid to give a voice to their fears.

The sound of Cragen's voice penetrated the office walls, ringing clearly in their ears. Short pauses randomly occurred when the older officer was listening to the delinquent detective's response. Two sets of ears strained to catch his soft timbre before it was swallowed by the confines of the four walls around him. Their eyes cast worriedly in the direction of the office door at counter intervals, unaware the other was unable to focus on the case at hand while one of their own was in the captain's crossfire.

Both detectives winced as their captain's booming voice escalated, dominating the normal noise level of the bustling squad room. "Poor John."

"Yeah. Sure sounds like the Captain's really tearing him a new on in there."

"Elliot, have you heard anything about the accident that John was just in?"

He shook his head, "no. Fin and Cragen are really tight lipped about it. Maybe when they're done, we can finagle it out of John." Stabler said as he rested his elbows on the file in front of him.

"I don't know, Elliot. You know how anti-social he gets this time of year and this morning wasn't exactly exceptional on the Munch-meter." Benson shook her head.

Stabler sighed and echoed a thought he had from but a few moments before. "You never know until you give it a try."

"Well, if you're so keen on knowing why, why don't you give it a try?"

"I thought that you had volunteered, Liv." He smiled sweetly at his partner, amusement dancing in his eyes. Stabler couldn't remember a time that he had enjoyed baiting his partner more then that moment as he watched her eyes narrow and her lips purse.

Before Benson could reply, Cragen's office door opened. They watched in morbid silence as Fin held the door as his deflated partner sullenly filed past. She decided against approaching the elder detective when she noticed the defeated expression written in Munch's eyes. Stabler shrugged at her questioning glance, his eyes fixed on the suddenly fragile looking detective shuffling past them. Sighing, she crushed the last embers of burning curiosity inside her as she turned her attention back to the Finnie case file before her.

Fin trailed behind his somber partner, missing the exchange of glances between the seated detective team. His thoughts remained centered on the slumped figure of his partner droning on ahead of him. He had kept his own counsel while Cragen interrogated Munch, not willing to risk angering either of them with his own thoughts. Yet seeing the defeat in Munch's eyes spawned a new breed of remorse. He desperately wished to crawl into his partner's head and discover the source of his melancholy.

He wished for one moment that his partner would let his careworn mask slip and conduct himself as a normal person; displaying emotion. Fin was used to the daily exposure of his partner's imitation of a living statue. After he had been assigned to the Special Victims Unit, he had learned everything that he could about his new colleagues. The only one that remained an enigma was the man that he had been assigned as partner to. It shouldn't really surprised him, Fin mused to himself, especially since Munch was still a mystery to the rest of the squadron.

Catching up with Munch at the elevator, Fin was torn. He had two options available to him and he liked neither one; push the button for his disabled partner or watch in silent agony as he struggled to do it himself while incurring the least amount of pain. The elevator chimed moments before its metal doors slid sand he followed Munch inside without a word, pretending he didn't notice the lines of pain leaking through the other man's mask. As brave as he was on the outside, Fin more often then not discovered a streak of cowardice inside of him at the most inopportune times and hid behind a mask of his own construction. The pair of detectives rode the elevator down to the building's lobby in silence, each wrapped alone in his thoughts.

An eternity later the elevator chimed again, announcing their arrival at their destination before its doors slipped slowly open. They walked in a deafening silence through the living labyrinth of flesh as they made their way to the doors. Fin held the door ajar for his partner and ground his teeth together when Munch stubbornly ignored his presence and smacked both of his bandaged hands against the bar. Clenching his fists, he followed the stubborn man out into the parking lot.

Humoring the man, he pretending to not notice Munch's quiet struggle with his burned, bandaged hands and the car door. He ignored the spikes of pain lines shooting across the detective's face and slipped behind the sedan's wheel. It pained him to be forced to stand idly by and witness his partner suffer as a result of his own stubborn nature. Fin turned the ignition over as Munch slipped between the narrow gap of the passenger side door and bit his lip as he pulled the door closed. From the corner of his eye, he noticed beads of sweat lining his partner's brow. Fin watched as Munch struggled with the seatbelt, fighting the urge to forcibly taking over for him. Instead, he shook his head and entered the busy New York street as his partner continued to fumble with the seatbelt.

Munch leaned back against the seat with a heavy sigh, trying to ignore the burning sensation sting his hands. For a moment he contemplated calling his doctor and asking for a more potent pain medication, but his pride won out. He wanted all his facets unclogged and clear for the trials that still lay ahead of him. Instead, he decided to use the pain to reinforced his cracking mask. Munch sullenly watched the storm clouds as Fin maneuvered the sedan through the afternoon traffic.

Unnerved by the void that had grown between them, Fin attempted to break the ice. "It's not like Cragen's kicked your skinny ass off the force or anything you know." Glancing at his mute partner, he cautiously continued. "Besides as far as head shrinks go, Huang's not that bad and it's not like he's a stranger." Fin said glancing at his partner again, "he's part of our little family."

Munch grunted and sighed. Talking with Huang was one thing but being dissected by a psychiatrist was a different story all together. He had dealt with numerous head shrinks during his tenure as a law enforcement officer and dreaded each encounter outside the professional circuit. While Munch had adjusted his attitude to tolerate their presence during a case consultation, he was ready to express his personal disdain when faced with being the subject of interrogation. Munch knew enough to conceal the truth with sugar coated, empty words and distracting jokes. Had he not elected to enter his current profession, Munch knew that je would have found his way into theater.

The sedan came to a stop outside a tall granite building and Fin turned off the idling ignition. "I'll walk you up," he said unbuckling himself.

"That's not necessary, I'm quite sure I can manage on my own." Munch said closing the car door with his hip.

Resigned, Fin followed his partner across the small courtyard. "Damn it, John! What's crawled up your boney ass? A psych work up's not the end of the world, shit like this happens. You know how the game is played."

"Uh-huh," Munch mumbled as he let the door close behind him and in front of his partner's face.

Fin tried to keep a lid on his flaring temper as he hurried after his pouting partner. "I know that thus is a hard time for you, but you need to realize..."

"You know nothing!" Munch shouted as he stomped towards the staircase.

"_But_ you meed to realize that you're not alone." Fin continued as though he hadn't been interrupted, "there's people who care about you and their only a phone call away."

"Go to hell."

"John, you don't need to be pushing us all away."

Munch rolled his eyes as he stalked up the winding staircase. He hoped his sentimental partner would take the hint after a good old fashion dose of the silent treatment. His mind screamed at him, demanding to know when the head busting Odafin Tutuola became the nurturing one of the pair. He shook off the nagging questions and started taking the stairs two at a time. It wasn't that Munch didn't enjoy the other man's company or engaging Fin a verbal sparring match. It was the subject matter that his persistent partner insisted upon pursing that drove him harder to seek solitude. As they reached Munch's landing, he heard Fin call over his shoulder. "Do you want some company? I'm sure the others' wouldn't miss me at the house and I don't mind either."

"Damn it, Fin, I'm not suicidal!"

"Hell John, you've managed to fool us with that idiotic stunt you pulled this morning. Just what was going through the melon of your's?"

"Nothing, Fin. Now if you mind, I'd like to be alone."

"That's part of the problem, John. Everyone's left you alone and it's done you _wonders_ of good for you already!" Fin shouted as they stood outside of Munch's apartment door.

"Do us both a favor, Fin and put in for a transfer!" The keys in his jacket pocket jingled as he wrestled them out of the fabric. Munch stalwartly glared at them as he fumbled for his apartment key and refused to look at his partner.

Fin felt his anger vanish as Munch's words punched him in the gut. His tongue fumbled to form words as his partner's keys slipped between his fingers and crashed to the floor. "I'm sorry about this, John. But I have to stick with the Captain on this one. Just get some sleep and I'll see you tomorrow, bright and early." Fin said as he watched his partner unlock the apartment door. The detective's heart twisted as he watched the older man walk inside of his apartment and close the door without saying a single word or indicating that he had heard Fin speak to him. Fin shook his head as he slowly walked back down the long L-shaped hallway.

As the door to his apartment clicked softly behind him, Munch collapsed against the wall. He bit his lip, not wanting to cry out loud for fear his partner was still within ear shot or one of his nosey neighbors would come to investigate. As the tears splashed on his hot face, Munch's body slid down the length of the wall. His muffled sobs echoed throughout the quiet apartment as he wrapped his arms around himself and Munch buried his head in the folds of his arms. The world around him seemed to shrink and collapse upon itself as it bore down upon his shoulders.

The meeting with Captain Cragen had surprised him as he thought back on it with a small sense of relief. While the captain had spent several minutes lecturing him on following proper procedure and respect for other departments, Munch had been relieved as he had prepared himself for the worst. Cragen must have noticed this as his next order of business in regards to disciplining him had been to inform Munch that he was suspended with pay until a clean bill of health had been issued from Huang. He would have protested, but Fin had seemed to agree with the captain which left Munch stuck between a rock and his captain. For all the qualities that Munch admired in his partner, Fin's resolve was high on his list. But at times when he wished for a chink in his partner's armor to form, Munch hated it.

Munch had been reluctant to agree to under go a psychiatric examination and to report to the good doctor the following day. As he looked back over the transpiring events, Munch realized that he had no choice in the matter. It wasn't so much the badge that attracted him to his profession, but rather the potential that the flimsy piece of metal offered. For Munch, it had and probably always would be the closest comparison in reality to the Sirens' Song of Homer's Odyessy. Not many people saw it the same way as he did, but mostly they were the ones that sought the power that the badge represented.

At one time, Munch had felt uncomfortable wearing the shiny trinket. He had felt like a child playing dress up or wearing a costume and he always wondered when his fellow officers would discover it. Time passed and he grew more comfortable with the added adornment on his dark blue issued shirt. Looking back, Munch found it ironic that Fate had twisted her threads in the Tapestry of Life and had placed him in the profession that he had once loathed. With the way that he had lived before, Munch knew that if his younger self were given the chance he would loath himself. Perhaps his younger self would endeavor to do something as drastic as ending his life. The problem with internal debates of "what if..." and "if I could..." and contained the popular subject of "time travel" was that they were impossible. Munch knew that however his younger self might react to discovering his future in the one profession that he loathed almost as much as the federal government, that it would never happen.

His distrust of the federal government was common knowledge and the FBI had complied a file of his days as a protestor during his college years. Munch knew that despite the fact that it was only one page and labeled him as a non-threat to national interest, that the federal government was not to be trusted. Munch felt an instant distrust of institutions that were eager to sell sand disguised as water to a thirsty man. What no one that he had ever known knew was that he didn't trust the police. Thus no one would understand the irony of his situation. Munch may have grown older, but his distrust was still as strong as ever. With age and experience, he had learned to hide many things and his distrust for the police had been one of them.

He was three quarters of the way through his sophomore year in college when he joined in on his first protest. Like many to follow, the protest rally was anti-war and anti-Vietnam in particular. But December would once again alter him, forever changing how he viewed the world around him. Despite the reason that had brought him to Washington, December had a certain glow about in when it made its presence seen. With all the natural wonders he had seen, none compared to the Washington Monument blanketed in snow.

For three days and nights they marched around the national capitol, each bearing the name of a soldier who had died needlessly in what had been decreed a police action. Sitting on the cold floor of his apartment, Munch couldn't recall the soldier's name he carried on his sign. But his body remembered the cold winter wind penetrating his torn trench coat and smacking his face with his shoulder length hair. He shivered as memories of the third night assaulted him, beating down his carefully constructed defenses. On the third night, the gates of Hades was opened.

One minute they were peacefully marching past the Lincoln Memorial and the next the night air was cut to ribbons by the thunder of gun shots. The screaming of frightened people overwhelmed him as everywhere Munch looked he saw blood flowing over the pavement of the street. Bodies were strewn haphazardly, lying where they had fallen. Panicked protesters where trampling each other as they dodged flying bullets and the police where no where to be seen. Not that Munch ever expected them to be around when they were needed.

He never knew for certain how he had managed to escape or how he had managed to find his way back to the hotel. But Munch could remember the icy shiver that ran down his spine when he first spied the innocent looking manila envelope laid across his pillow. It was the same feeling that he got when one of them turned up for years afterwards. It was always the same hand writing, the same accusations every time. The letters always started with, "_dear murderer_..."

Munch rocked himself back and forth, hugging his knees to his chest. He knew there was no truth to the accusations, but it was hard to believe his own memories. It wasn't his fault, he was just a kid when it had happened. How he hated December, it only reminded him of what was best left buried. So many scars were accumulated during the jovial month, too many to count before he was fifteen. But that was only a few reasons why the month haunted him so, reminding him of past failures.

The yuletide season was also a bitter anniversary, anniversaries that he could never forget. Each December day was a re-opening of horrific scars on his soul. When Jessica Myers had been discovered in the waterfront warehouse, his personal demon inquisitor had reappeared. The manila envelopes arrived to mark the anniversaries once again before falling silent when he had moved to New York. The change of scenery had done his battered soul good until recently.

Munch stared at the manila envelope laying propped up against the computer screen. Without seeing the contents, he knew what lay inside and hung his head in defeat. After all, he was always the one that was Superman strong; at least on the job. He was only thankful no one in the squad had discovered his kryptonite, perhaps he would be able to keep Huang from finding it as well if he was lucky.

**_A/N_**

Sorry it took so long to get this one out, but I hope that you've enjoyed it. Chapters six through eight have been written and I just need to find the time to type and post. I don't know when the next update will be, but I'm still plugging along with it.

**Mikhyel**

Munch's day has gotten worse and it'll continue down hill for a bit yet. But there will be some light moments in chapter 8.

**Chiana Lawlie** & **Girl Called Mozart**

More Munch agnst to come!

**Singing Sal**

Here's your update.

**Barb Wily**

Still no beta reader that's willing to endure the lack of muse inspirations. (I've gone through a couple on this chapter alone.) But I've tried my best to cut down on the redundancy. Are you a beta?

**Sensoo**

Thanks for your critic, I really apperciate it. I'm still easing into writing for internet based fan fiction and hopefully I'll develope some better writing skills as the story progresses. crosses fingers

**AKIKO**

Your words were just fine. I hope that you enjoyed this chapter.

**Vertigo Mac**

Thanks for the review. Unfortunetly, the patrolman's report is in the next chapter. I'll try to get that up for you asap.

**Dawn Moon**

Thanks for your review. Though I like a few of the Munch ships, I decided to just do a Munch fic for a change of pace.

**bebe** and **Anon**

Thank you two for your reviews. Since you both generously pointed out some flaws in the story's structure, I thought it best to answer you both in the same response. As a writer, no matter what genre or audience, I can tell you that reviewers like you are worth your weight in gold. Sometimes a writer, for whatever reason, forgets that not everyone that is reading the story is on the same level.

While I _eagerly_ read the reviews that are left, the ones that bluntly critic the story are always the best ones. I'm talking about the ones that at first glance look like flamers. When you go back over them, carefully reading the words and trying to see the story from the reader's point of view, those ones are the best. Though I enjoy the flattering ones as well and those ones are more likely to get me to write more and to write faster. Thank you.

**HR puffnstuff**

Thanks for your review. From now on, any mention of the Stabler/Benson portion of the story is dedicated to you. Lol


	7. Chapter 6

"Morning Detective." Huang said without looking up as the detective opened his office door.

"Yeah..." Munch scowled as he closed the redwood door behind him quietly.

"Why don't you have seat and we'll begin."

"You're the one running the show." Munch said as he slipped into the chair in front of the doctor's desk.

"Why don't we begin with the accident yesterday."

"Two car accident, no fatalities as far as I've heard. The rest you can read for yourself in the reports." Standing up, "if that's all I really need to get some actual work done." Munch lied.

"Please seat down, Detective. I read the reports, now I want you to tell me what wasn't in them." Huang said as he pulled a pad of paper and a pen.

"I don't know what you're talking about, everything's there." Munch said stubbornly crossing his arms.

"Yes the facts are spelled out, but what I want to know is what you didn't put into the report. What you didn't tell Cragen."

"I think that we're on the wrong side here. You should be the one getting your head examined, not me." Munch said looking over the rim of his glasses.

"Let's begin with that, shall we?"

"Begin with what?"

"The glasses, Detective Munch. According to your file, your eyesight is fine and you don't need prescription glasses."

"And your point being?" Munch shivered as the psychiatrist's eyes bore into his.

"Why do you feel the need to hide behind them?"

"I'm not hiding anything." Munch lied.

"Detective, it's perfectly normal for a person of any age to feel that they need a security blanket. But what I want to know is why you feel that you need to conceal a part of yourself."

"You make me sound like some sort of criminal, maybe I should just turn myself and get it over with." Munch snapped defensively.

Seeing that he wasn't getting anywhere with his current approach, Huang switched subjects. "Has anyone ever accused you being paranoid?"

Munch snorted in reply. " Of course I am, I'm still alive aren't I"

Seeing that his patient wasn't responding, the psychiatrist tried again with a different approach to the subject at hand. "Why don't we discuss you now?"

"I don't like talking about myself."

"Why is that?"

"Because I'm more interested in everyone else."

"Are you afraid to discuss yourself?"

"The only time that I get scared is when people get scared, Huang. Because when people get scared, the first thing they sign away is the rights that every person takes for granted." It looked like he was moving, but in reality he was standing still.

"So, people scare you?"

"A person is a highly intelligent creature and makes intelligent choices. People, sadly, are the stupidest creatures to _ever_ live and are willing to jump off a cliff just because someone was _pushed_ off. So I guess you could say only the stupid ones scare me."

"So you have trust issues."

"Is this the part where I'm suppose to break down and tell you what a rotten childhood I had?"

"Was it?"

"You head doctors are all alike, you think that all life's little problems stem from childhood." Munch grunted as he shook his head. "Fine, my childhood. It was great. Next subject." Huang had found his kryptonite and he knew it too, but Munch wasn't about to go down without a good fight.

As he was living the doctor's office, Munch shuddered. Time was running away from him, running faster then he could catch it. His scars were starting to show through the mask and one day the mystery that he had been harboring would be exposed. The demons he had been concealing in the recesses of his soul would claw their way to the surface and night would fall. He would see their judgement in their eyes and then he would know.

Munch understood how a Mexican jumping bean felt as adrenaline pumped wildly through his veins. He tried to disassociate himself with the unbridled surge of memories flooding his mind. The meeting with Huang had broken through the invisible fortress between the events of his present life and the life he had attempted to bury deep inside of himself. Munch wasn't sure what direction his life was taking him, but he did know that it would be forever changed.

Three weeks had crept by since his abrupt charge into the blazing minivan that was heralded by a phantom call and he felt a surging sense of relief pumped through him as the glass door of the federal building closed behind him with a soft sigh. He started for his partner's car parked across the busy Manhattan street. His mind was consumed with events past as he crossed the noisy street and slid into the passenger's seat of the Sedan.

_His nerves were on fire as adrenalin pulsed through his veins. The elevator doors slid open and he drew a deep breath before proceeding Fin onto the floor. He cautiously stepped into the squad room and watched. He watched the activity of the bustling room with the wonder and hunger of fresh rookie._ _Though he had been absent from his desk for but a day, he fully realized just how much he had missed it. With the first steps across the threshold, he had left the hallway and found himself home once again._

_He understood what it felt for a wild cat to be ripped from its natural habit to only be set free to run back in the wilderness. A uniformed officer brushed past him as he stalked towards the captain's office with Fin hot on his heels. He could feel Benson and Stabler's gaze following him as he navigated the labyrinth. Perhaps he had been imagining it, but he had felt as though every eye in the bullpen had been burning into his back as he stepped into the Captain's office. "Captain," his voice sounded gruff to his own ears._

_Cragen glanced up from the ocean of paperwork crowding his desk long enough to wave him to a seat. Behind him, he could feel Fin leaning against the wall and watching the events unfold. "Huang called yesterday," Cragen's pen continued to scratch across the paper in front of him as he spoke. "He's cleared a couple of hours each day for the week for you're sessions with him. You start Monday."_

_"With all due respect, I'm sane enough to know that I don't require the good doctor's services."_

_The scratching of Cragen's pen stopped as he turned his full attention onto the errant detective. "Sane men do not charge into burning vehicles and rescue teddy bears. Sane men do not bit and kick rescue workers, city employees who risk their lives as much as we do, because they are bent on rescuing stuffed animals. Sane men use their common sense and relay on their own survival instincts rather then throwing themselves in front of the charging train._

_"What you did was beyond stupidity and beyond suicidal. I really would love to know what was going through that melon three feet above your ass, if anything at all." Cragen leaned back and waited for a response._

_"I don't have an explanation, Captain."_

_Cragen snorted disdainfully, "don't step back in this office until you do." He waved his hand in dismissal._

_His protests died unuttered as he meekly shuffled from the office, effectively cowed. He shot his partner a traitorous glare before passing over the threshold. He smiled weakly back at an overly cheerful Elliot Stabler as Fin marched him past. There were occasions when he felt the desire to slap the other man silly for being so cheerful most of the time while the world pissed itself away and he decided that it was one of those days. He suppressed the urge and coerced himself to make past his lonely looking desk._

Munch ignored Fin and slipped out of the passenger seat and hurried upstairs to his apartment. As the door clicked softly closed behind him, he was relieved that his partner had respected his unspoken wishes to be left alone. Leaving his clothes in a trail behind him, he stumbled through the darkened apartment to his waiting bed and into the waiting embrace of sleep. Within minutes his labored breathing slowed and he slipped under the Sandman's influence.

His eyes fluttered closed as a desperate voice whispered urgently in the back of his mind. As sleep began to overcome him, so did the dreams that brought the memories to his vulnerable mind. Snowflakes skittered slowly from the night sky as his first moans softly into the silent darkness of his bedroom. Terror began to haunt the features of Munch's face as he tossed and turned beneath the sheets of his bed.

_Smoke filled his lungs as the heat seared his flesh and tears began to fall down his face from his stinging eyes. He doubled over coughing and sputtering as the smoke burned its way down his throat and into his lungs. He looked down at his hands and stumbled backwards as he watched the flesh on his hands and arms melt. A cold sweat gripped his soul as the melting flesh dripped onto the bubbling black river beneath him._

_His skin crawled as though it were a blanket woven of ants clothing his bones. His stomach churned as the fathomless abyss erupted into a world of red-orange flames He felt his legs give way beneath him and the cold asphalt rushed up to greet him. A plaintive whimper croaked into the mirthless night, "please. Not this again, I don't want to see this again!" _

_The road beneath him melted, slowly swallowing him up to his waist. Munch clawed at the unyielding earth beneath him, frantic to escape the events that were unfolding before his eyes again. He squeezed his eyes shut and tugged at his ears in a futile attempt to prevent the memory from reclaiming its hold on him once again. Blood curdling screams echoed in his head as an invisible force pried his eyes open and the story began._

His eyes fluttered closed as a desperate voice whispered urgently in the back of his mind. As sleep began to overcome him, so did the dreams that conjured the memories. Snowflakes fluttered to the earth outside his bedroom window as the first moans were stolen from his lips. His breathing quickened as he fell deeper into the siege of the night. The first heartfelt groan summoned the demons from their hiding places and the old monsters were quick to scamper from the shadows.

_Smoke filled his lungs as the heat seared his flesh. The tears stung his eyes as he stared in horror, watching the skin of his hands melting like molten wax. He could hear them screaming, crying and begging for mercy with each new beat of his thundering heart. The smell of blood perfumed the abyss, mingling with the stench of fear pouring from every breath his lungs. A cold sweat engulfed his soul as he stumbled backwards, falling into the void. _

_His fingers desperately clawed the empty air around him, searching for an anchor in this dark Hell. The voices had slowly faded away until solitary voice called him from beyond the despair. A stray ray of light tentatively reached into the chasm, beating back the horrors. His stomach churned as a face gradually formed from the strands of illumination piercing the forsaken realm. His voice cracked as a plaintive whimper escaped the mirthless world. "Please, not this. I don't want to see this!"_

_He felt his legs give way beneath him as gravity brought him crashing to the cold asphalt. Color gradually filled the spectral looming before his petrified form. Slowly, a face framed in auburn hair came into focus and dead blue eyes stared into his. "It wasn't my fault, it was only suppose to be a joke!" The pensive face before his remained unmoved, as the flesh slowly melted. He held up his hands as though to ward off the memory, falling further into denial._

_Looking through the cracks of his fingers, a squeal of fear slipped from his lips. The face combusted, morphing into another's. He hung his head, unable to meet the eyes of his new assailant. From the corner of his eyes, he saw disappointment flash in his father's eyes. "Please, God make it end." He squeezed his eyes shut and tugged at his ears in a futile attempt to wake himself from Hell that constructed for himself. Blood curdling screams echoed in his head as an inevitable force pried his eyelids open, forcing him to relive the past. "Please..." He begged as an alarm blared in the distance. _

He jerked awake, cold sweat pouring down his lean frame and drenching the bed sheets. Past hurt flashed in his eyes as he stared, unseeing at the darkened bedroom ceiling above him. Frantically he struggled with the ever constricting material, desperate to breathe. Loud sobs racked him as his fingers sunk into the smooth cotton of the bedspread. His body trembled as the material cocooning him ripped, freeing him of it's embrace. Wrestling with the material, he tumbled from the wet bed onto the hard floor below. Tears streamed down his face as he sobbed into the heavy silence of his bedroom. The webbing of the drenched bedding wound around him, chaining him to the bed.

Clawing at the tattered remains of the sheets, he smacked his thigh against the bedframe. Whimpering like a wounded puppy, he crawled on his belly to the bathroom. He gasped for air as his elbows drug him across the cold floor of the Spartan room. His stomach muscles clenched, tightening until he was forced to curl into a ball. He rocked himself back and forth, letting the tears fall freely from beneath his closed eyes. His breathing slowed and slipped into a steady rhythm as sleep over came him once again.

_He felt himself going under and a choir of angels' voices rising above the thunderous white static in the dark realm. The void was shattered as a great blast of light penetrated his weary world. He winced as distinct and individual sounds sharpened and colors blazed out at him all around him. He felt himself fall as gravity rocketed back to life in this forsaken world of his mind's creation._

_"Are you chicken or something?" He heard his adolescent self taunt from the shadows at the edges of the light._

_"I'm just as brave as you are, Johnny!" He winced as her soft voice shrieked nervously back._

_"Well, what's stopping you JoAnna!" He winced as the voices' owners came into focus. His body shook as the haunting landscape came into an abrupt focus. He wanted to scream and run away, but a morbid fear forced himself to watch and relive._

_"Fine!" JoAnna said as she stomped past the smirking ten year old boy. Her pigtails swinging haphazardly against her back as she marched up the steep, rocky drive. Arrogant determination gradually gave way to fear as adrenaline screamed through her body._

_Johnny smirked as he watched the nine year old tom-boy stalk up the overgrown driveway towards the looming Lattin house. From his place on the side of the highway, he could see the top two stories of the condemned house. The moonlight shined coldly back at him from between the rotting boards nailed across the broken windows of the cold house. "Predictable," Johnny mumbled to himself gleefully as JoAnna came to a jerky stop at the bottom step of the abandoned house._

_A cool Atlantic breeze wound its way by him and up towards the old house, leaving a trail of goose bumps racing down Johnny's spine in its wake. Johnny carelessly leaned against a rotting stump next the rundown mail box, oblivious to the splinters of wood spiraling to the ground at his feet. "Give her a minute or two before I go and rescue her." Johnny snorted ass he cracked his neck with a sigh. He glanced up at the house and did a double take. "What the...! She's completely bonkers!" Johnny gawked at the deserted spot in front of the old Lattin house._

_His stomach lurched as a shadow passed by the only unboarded window on the ground floor. For a moment, Johnny was able to convince himself that it had been JoAnna that he had seen. A persistent, nagging voice reminded him that the shadow had been too tall to be his little cousin. Unable to remain in the secure embrace of denial, Johnny gulped as he found himself stumbling up the steep drive. _

_Johnny's heart drummed in his ears with each step that his newly automated feet took. Adrenaline pulsed through him as he seemed to float towards the decaying pile of rubble on the hill. Sweaty palms quickly turned to ice sd his hands closed around the large brass door knob. His breath quickened as the door knob gave one last rattle and the weather battered door screeched as he slowly swung it open._

_Moonlight washed into the fathomless darkness of the abyss within and dust fell from the ceiling as he jerked the door wider as he squeezed into the house. The floorboards creaked beneath his weight as Johnny crept through the endless darkness. His heart throbbed in his head as the ceiling above him creaked and moaned with the passage of stampeding feet fleeing towards the back of the house._

_Chewing on the inside of his cheek, his eyes darted from side to side in indecision. A scream echoed through the dusty, dry abyss of the never ending ocean of darkness. Hyperventilating, Johnny turned abruptly and fled the desolate house. Leaving the decrepit front door rocking back and forth in the summer breeze, he leapt from the crumbling porch to the ground. An involuntary cry slipped from his mouth as the harsh ground torn through his jeans and the tender skin on his knee._

_Stumbling and tripping, Johnny flew down the long drive and back down to the highway below. The palms of his hands stung as the wind whipped past them during his flight. Tears streamed down his dirt smudged face as he tumbled down the last few feet of the driveway. Oblivious to the bleeding cuts and scraps, he stumbled blindly onto the asphalt and into the piercing lights of an on coming car._

_He wept as the vision faded and he was alone once again in the thunderous static of nothingness._ _If he could turn back time and find a way to take back the horrors of his past, he would find a way to heal the wounds cut into his soul. He would have the strength to end the nightmares once and for all. He sank to his knees as wept for his lost innocence and for the boy that he once was. He grieved for his cousin and felt the shame that accompanied guilt._

Munch snorted awake to the sound of his alarm clock wailing from its stand on the other side of the bed. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he slowly unfolded his protesting body and stretched his cramped muscles gingerly. He stumbled into his bathroom as the alarm clock continued to serenade him. Washing his face, he stared at th pale reflection watching him in the mirror.

A heavy sigh escaped his lips, "just look at yourself! You're falling apart and everyone knows it, Johnny." He smirked at the sound of his childhood nickname, the nickname that JoAnna had given him. He shook his head sadly before turning the faucet off and sweat coated shirt off his back. Balling the material, he lazily tossed it into the overflowing hamper in the corner and stepped into the shower.

_He huddled beneath the grey blanket in the backseat of the Main State Trooper's car. Johnny shivered as he watched local firefighters battle the blazing flames engulfing the Lattin house. The once seducing waves of the North Atlantic lost their allure as he waited breathlessly as the firefighters fought the losing battle for the old house. As he watched the rotting house collapse in on itself he realized that if he wasn't going to go to Hell before, he was going first class now._

_Johnny couldn't understand why the state troopers were standing back alongside the highway and not in the house searching for JoAnna. He squirmed in his seat until his face was pressed up against the cruiser's windshield. He gnawed on the inside of his cheek nervously as he watched the enigmatic flames leaping into the chilly night air. Fear gave way to a crushing wave of guilt as more and more of the desolate house was consumed by the ravages of the fire. He closed his tearing eyes to the sight of his aunt and uncle clinging to each other at the edge of the searing heat._

Puffy eyes stared back at him from the bathroom mirror. Sighing, he turned on the faucet as he reached for the electric razor. Looking back, he realized that he had spent his life making up for one night of blatant cowardice. He had donned the uniform and earned the gold shield out of guilt for the fate that had befallen his cousin, JoAnna. In its own way, he reasoned that the job gave him the opportunity to redeem his ten year old self. His father had tried to reassure him that as young as he had been, running had been the correct course of action. Though the gruff words had been meant to comfort and sooth his troubled mind, he felt the full weight of the guilt to this day.

_Rain drizzled from the grey sky above the cluster of the black blossoms encircling a freshly dug grave. Three dozen mourners clung to each other as Rabbi Goldberg solemnly spoke. Fresh tears fell down their well-worn path_ _down their pale cheeks as a veil of silence fell over them. JoAnna's parents clung to each other as though to draw strength from one another. New sobs erupted in the somber atmosphere as the plain coffin was gently lowered into the saturated ground below. _

_"Why does God call unto Him the young and innocent, while the rest of us are left upon the earth to suffer their passing? JoAnna will never know the sorrow that accompanies the loss of a loved one and yet she'll never know the joy of the birth of a child of her own. She will never experience the harsh cruelty that the world bestows upon us all. JoAnna has stepped before us and entered paradise, she has taken her place beside our Lord and will know the joys and wonders of His kingdom. Joanna is not lost to us, but rather she has been found by our Father. One day, we all shall be reunited in Heaven above and we shall rejoice. _

_"Though her earthly body is no longer amongst us, her spirit will forever be with us. Upon the day that we join Him, there will be such a rejoicing of the spirit that no living soul has known and we shall walk with Him and JoAnna in the kingdom of His creation. Our Father calls the young unto Him at such an early age to spare them the suffering that life would have brought them had they been condemned to remain on earth. Such sicknesses of the mind and body, those forged by the hand of Man, bring only great suffering until the soul that they afflict. It is better that our Lord call the young to him, then allow the Devil his victory in their sufferings." Rabbi Goldberg bowed his head and began to pray in Hebrew. As the prayer wound down, the mourners slowly filed past JoAnna's coffin and dropping a single white rose upon the common casket that she lay within._

_Johnny found himself alone next to the freshly covered grave long after the others had departed. He wanted to cry; to grieve for his cousin like the rest of his family. Yet the tears refused to fall. He could feel the biting of his nails digging into his palms through the numbness of his mind. Johnny watched as the last few fragile shreds of his innocence crumble away as the grave diggers dumped the last shovel full of moist earth on the grave. He sank to his knees as remorse assaulted him, oblivious to the spreading dampness collecting on the legs of his suit pants._

_Bowing his head, Johnny quietly promised that he would search the four corners of the globe until the end of eternity for her killer. Leaving the cemetery, he began to lay the foundation for a course that would carry him the rest of his life and the ending resulting in JoAnna's killer being brought to justice. Though young as he was, Johnny knew that he was standing at the foot of the mountain and that justice the just beyond, at the foot of that hill. _

Absently scratching his chest, he wandered the length of his Spartan apartment. For a moment he entertained the thought of having a cat, but quickly dismissed the notion. With the hours that he always put in, the cat would quickly come to the end of its tether and file for divorce before going on a killing spree. Though he wasn't concerned about the rodent population that resided within his building, he wasn't fond of the idea of discovering decapitated mice lying around his apartment. He reasoned that if he ever got desperate enough to endure a whining female in his castle again, it would be easier on his heart to find himself another wife. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he was oblivious to the world around him. He decided that he Fates had conspired against him and decreed that he should forever be alone.

Lying across the bed, he stared up at the ceiling as the wheels in his mind turned. He had appeared every telephone pole and street sign in JoAnna's hometown with fliers, begging for their help. Days had quickly evaporated into months and the fliers yellowed with age, were torn and smudged with the same passage of time. With time he had grown older and wiser, but he could never truly forget what he had over heard the medical examiner tell JoAnna's parents.

Sighing, he pushed the thoughts of his cousin and the nightmare from his mind. After all, he was the one that was suppose to be superman strong.It wasn't dark yet, but it was getting there.

_**A/N**_

Uh-oh, looks like the skeletons are starting to escape the closet...Thanks for your kind reviews, I not sure when I'll get the next chance to update. But the story is long from finished AND it will be finished.

**Mikhyel**

Thanks for your review and I hope you like the chapter and there's more Munch angst to come.


	8. Chapter 7

The flashing tell-tale red lights slashed through the darkened world as the grey Sedan came to stop next the coroner's station wagon. Sighing heavily, Detective Olivia Benson slipped her seat belt off and opened the passenger's door. Stepping out onto the slick pavement, she let the door slam shut under the influence of gravity as rubbed her chilly hands together in the vain attempt to create heat from friction. A lock of hair fell across her face as she stalked into the illuminated alley. "What do we have?"

Without turning from the body, "Caucasian female. She's probably between eighteen and twenty-three, it's hard to tell considering her condition. Once we get her back to the office, we'll do a work up and find out." Warner said as she handed a plastic bag off to her assistant and turned back to the young woman laying prone before her. "What I _can_ tell you is that she was killed somewhere else and then dumped here." Holding a single straw of hay up for the SVU detectives, "we found this in her hair."

"So, she was killed outside the city then?" Detective Stabler asked as he joined Benson standing next to the Medical Examiner.

"Not necessary, Elliot, some of the city run kennels use hay as bedding for the larger dogs." Benson said, giving her partner a sidelong glance.

"As well as the local mounted police units located throughout the state." Warner added as she returned her attention back to the deceased young woman.

"Is there anything else you can tell us?" Stabler asked as he scribbled on the pad in his hand.

"Not at the moment, Detective. Once I've got her on the table, I should be able to give you more information." Turning to her assistant, "let's get this poor girl out of her." The Asian man nodded his head as he lifted the corpse into a black body bag. Returning her attention to the two SVU detectives, "I'll give you guys a call after I've done the autopsy."

"Thanks," Stabler mumbled as he trailed after his partner.

Benson briefly spared the coroner a nod as she stalked down the desolate alley. Coming along side a uniformed officer, "what do you have?"

Titling his head, the officer held up a small evidence bag. "The murder weapon, Detective."

"The perp must have tossed it on his way out, but why here? Why not just dump it someplace else? It certainly would have given him a better lead on us."

"He's playing with us, Liv."

"Elliot, there's something about this that's making me uneasy." Detective Benson said as she brushed a rogue lock of hair from her face.

Collecting the evidence bag from the uniformed officer, Stabler strolled back to the grungy alley entrance with his partner in tow. "Kathy was wondering if you'll be joining us for Christmas dinner this year?"

"Oh, I don't know."

"With your mom gone, there's no reason why you should have to spend Christmas alone."

"Is John coming?"

"I haven't had the chance to ask him, Liv, but I doubt that he'll come." Detective Stabler shrugged as he climbed behind the wheel of the Sedan.

Closing the passenger side door after her, Benson busied herself buckling her seat belt. "If anyone deserves a bit of yule cheer it's Munch."

Turning the engine over, "I agree. But there's only so much nagging a fellow can do, even at Christmas." The Sedan pulled away from the curb and back into traffic in the wake of the two detectives laughter.

As Stabler navigated the city streets, Benson stared out the passenger window. The case file in front of her open and neglected as her thoughts centered around the standoffish man that worked with them in the Special Victims' Unit. Year after year she knew that her partner issued invitations to the detectives in their unit and year after year their friend declined. A few years past she had learned that Munch was Jewish, though not very rigorous about following religious law. As far as Benson knew, he didn't celebrate Hanukkah nor would he eat pork in any form. Yet, she wondered what else about the older man didn't she know? It bothered her that they had worked together for seven years and he knew more about her then she would ever hope to know about him.

Glancing over at her partner, Benson knew that she had more knowledge of the older detective then Stabler did. Nibbling on the end of her pen, she gazed out her window wondering if Munch's partner was the key to understanding the other man better. After all, she herself had revealed more about herself to her partner and Stabler had done so in return, so it was only logical to conclude that Fin would have a better insight into Munch. Resolving to speak with the other detective, she refocused on the file before her.

Weaving through the busy city street, Stabler chanced a glance at his partner. He had been debating on whether or not on inviting Benson to the house for Christmas this year largely due to the situation on his home front. Kathy had been unusually displeased about inviting his colleagues over for the holiday dinner, mostly because of his partner. For the last several months she had been hounding him about putting a transfer to a different unit and when she realized that he wasn't going to, she began insinuating that perhaps he should at the very least request a new partner. Since her best friend's husband had run off with his much younger legal secretary, Kathy had become unduly paranoid that her husband would soon follow suit.

He had tried countless times to reassure her that he had no interest in a relationship with another woman, but her paranoia was persistent. Her insecurities had led to several loud shouting arguments that ended with him either sleeping on the couch. Stabler tried hard to keep his personal life from interfering with his professional and resisted the tempting urge to flee from the house all together during those disagreements. Despite his wife's current irrational behavior, Stabler was still devoted to her and their children. However much he protested Kathy's wild and ungrounded accusations, Stabler refused to budge on the issue of his work life. He reasoned that being married didn't mean he was dead and thus would not notice nor appreciate a good looking woman when he saw her. But with his wife's current case of paranoia, he wasn't about to use that reasoning with her. Stabler smiled to himself as he recalled the incident at breakfast just after the kids had left to catch their school bus. The pang of regret at not having a video recorder at hand to tape and then later show for Kathy was nearly unbearable.

"_Have you filed the papers yet, Elliot?" Kathy asked as she stacked the breakfast dishes in her hand._

"_No," he said before taking a sip of his morning coffee._

_Dropping the plates loudly on the counter, "why on earth not?"_

"_I've told you time and time again that I'm not going to ask Cragen for a new partner." The newspaper crinkled as he turned the page and began to read an article._

As the traffic light switched to green, he crossed the intersection and turned down the right-hand road leading back to the station house. His thoughts continued to swirl around the conversation this morning just before he left for work. Shaking his head, Stabler fought back a chuckle at the ridiculous accusations issuing from his wife of nearly two decades.

"_It's because of _her_, isn't it? Why Elliot, why don't you just pack a suitcase now and move in with her!"_

"_Honestly Kathy, I'm not now nor will I ever have an affair with Liv!" Stabler said as he dropped the _New York Times _on the table and turned to look at his wife. "I love _you _and the kids, I would _never _trade what we have here and now for anything in the world."_

"_But if she..."_

"_But nothing, Kathy. Liv and I are only partners, nothing more."_

Shifting the Sedan into park outside the precinct, Stabler turned the engine off and headed indoors. He was numbly aware of his partner tailing him as he slipped inside the building's glass doors and headed down the corridor towards the elevator. The door chimed as it slid slowly open and he stepped aside to allow the uniformed officer to step out into the lobby before stepping inside himself. As the object of his and Kathy's earlier discussion stepped into the elevator next to him, Stabler pushed the button.

"_Elliot, I've seen the way that woman looks at you." Kathy insisted as she folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the counter._

"_How does she look at me?"_

"_Like a thirsty man looks at a watering hole mirage in the Sahara." Kathy said as she picked at her shirt._

"_That's preposterous! Olivia Benson would no more be interested in me that way then she would Fin or Munch." Stabler shook his head as he placed a chaste kiss on his wife's cheek. "I've gotta run or I'll be late, again."_

Chuckling softly to himself, Stabler stepped into the squad room as soon as the doors had slid open and hurried to his desk. Discarding his jacket on the back of his chair, he slipped into Cragen's office to give the captain their initial report as Benson settled herself behind her desk.


	9. Chapter 8

Fin sighed as he pulled restlessly at the tie around his neck. Unlocking the driver's side door, he slid behind the wheel of the Sedan. Sticking the key in the ignition, he groaned as slumped across the front seat. Through the obscuring throbbing haze in his skull, he reached for the glove compartment in desperate need of relief. Papers spilled from the tiny compartment as he searched for the bottle of Advil hidden amongst the rubble that was paperwork. Fin hissed softly as a particularly nasty throb echoed through his skull, ricocheting off of one side and then back to the other. His clumsy fingers slipped, sending the small plastic bottle sailing in the air and into the back seat.

Cursing vehemently, he lunged backwards in a futile attempt at catching the small projectile as it bounced on the seat behind him. His shoulder collided with the front seat, knocking the air out of his lungs as he landed hard. Wincing, he prayed that whatever deity was watching him would take pity upon his pitiful excuse of existence and struck him dead right there as he cradled his pounding head. Cautiously inching his way backwards into the backseat, Fin slowly reached for the small plastic bottle. Closing his fingers around the white bottle of relief, he retracted his arm all the while trying to ignore the tiny twinge of pain shooting through him. "What a world," Fin mumbled to himself as he lay sideways across the front seat and carefully unscrewed the pill bottle top off. "If I died right here, right now I'd be a happy man." Dumping several pills out onto his upturned palm, he snapped the lid back on and tossed the empty white bottle into the back seat.

Dumping his prize into his mouth, Fin swallowed the medication. Draping his arm over his face, the detective sighed as the intense throbbing continued in his head. Fin pulled the tie completely off from around his neck and let it drop lazily to the floorboard on the passenger side of the Sedan. Soft, primal moans of distress slipped from his lips in perfect rhythm with the dull pounding in his head. He focused on breathing, sucking air in and out as he waited for the pain in his skull to subside.

Desperately hating appearing in court and more so as a witness, Fin was glad that the slimy bastard was going to get his just deserts. The Special Victims' Unit had spent the better part of a month tracking down lead after lead before finally catching Mrs. Mary Finnie's killer, thankfully the Assistant District Attorney had rushed to file the paperwork and get a grand jury indictment before the perp could get a chance to flee the country. Despite this bit of good news, Fin wasn't happy about having to return to the courtroom when the time came for the guy's trial. His headache marginally better, Fin scooted back into the driver's seat and turned the ignition over.

Fin's heart went out to the late Mrs. Finnie's children as he pulled away from the curb and rolled slowly through the vast parking lot. The oldest child, a daughter, had finally been located and contacted earlier in the morning. Distraught and nearly hysterical, the daughter had promised to fly back to Manhattan on the first available flight from San Diego, California. Until she arrived, Mrs. Finnie's younger two children were placed with a local foster home. Perhaps it had been a blessing from the winds of fortune or not, but Fin was glad that the younger two hadn't been home at the time that their mother had been murdered.

He was looking forward to returning to the police station and delivering the trial report to Cragen. Fin thought that perhaps he should take the time and tackle some of the paperwork that had accumulated on his desk during his absence. The only thing that he was sure of as he slipped into traffic was the fact that he needed to stop by his partner's apartment. He sighed heavily as the pounding in his head suddenly escalated at the mere thought of seeing his partner.

Immediately following his initial release from the hospital, Fin had made it a point to stop by the other man's apartment daily. Yet after his first meeting with Huang, those visits had occurred every other day. With each visit, Fin could see his partner withdrawing more and more from him. It seemed to Fin that Munch's sessions with the FBI psychologist were doing more harm then good. A few days prior, he had brought his observations to Cragen with nothing to show.

"_I'm telling you Captain, it's like he's slipping away into Lala Land or something." Fin said as he paced the room back and forth, "I'm not so sure anymore that these sessions with Huang are doing any good."_

"_He says that Munch is making progress, Fin and I trust his judgement in this matter."_

"_Yeah, but Captain, you haven't seen John lately."_

_Though it hadn't been a question, Cragen had responded, "no I haven't. I should stop by for a short visit though." He said rubbing his chin thoughtfully as he watched the detective wear holes in his office floor._

"_You should, you know no one from SVU has taken time out of their busy lives to stop in for a minute but me. It's no wonder John is slipping away from us, it's kinda hard to want to stay in a reality where you've been convinced that you're not wanted around." Fin snapped as he stalked for the office door, leaving surprised and baffled Captain Cragen in his wake. So intent on escaping the office, Fin had nearly plowed Detective Stabler over as he walked in. Ignoring the hurt and puzzled look that the other man shot at him, Fin stalked through the squad room._

"_Hey Fin, how's it..." A small part of him cringed at the hurt and bewildered look that Detective Benson shot at him as he stomped past her, a tiny weeny part._

Shaking himself back to reality, Fin accelerated through the traffic as he switched his lights on. Despite years of service on the force, he had never gotten over the sheer thrill of the perks that went along with his job. During his tenure in Narcotics, he had seen and heard the sirens and yet he had rarely had the opportunity to incite them himself. If he indulged himself now and again in the vain effort to break the tedium of the drive, Fin couldn't see any hurt. Truth be told, he enjoyed the small amount of power that drove his fellow drivers to part before him and the small abuse of his authority was nothing compared to what he had witnessed during his stint on the force.

Flipping his lights off quickly, Fin pulled into the precinct parking lot. Rubbing his tired eyes, he shifted into park before turning off the Sedan's engine. As the car door slammed close behind him, Fin realized that his headache had disappeared. A faint smile fluttered to his face as he opened the lobby's glass door and stepped inside. Nodding to the clerk, he strolled down the hallway to the elevator. "Hold it!" He called out as he began to jog leisurely towards the shutting metal doors of the elevator. Slipping inside, "thanks."

"You're welcome, Detective." Leaning against the far wall as his breaths came in panting gasps, Fin returned the officer's warm smile. "What floor are you headed to?"

"S...V...U's."

The officer nodded his head and leaned his shoulder against the wall. "I don't suppose you can tell me whether Detective Munch is in today or not?"

Shaking his head, "sorry. John's on convalescent leave."

"Really? Hmm, you wouldn't happen to know why?"

"It's a private matter, Officer..?"

"Okay then, thank you Detective...?"

"Fin."

The officer raised a bushy brown eyebrow, "Fin?"

"Yes, 'Fin', I didn't catch your name though." Fin said as he glanced over the middle aged uniformed officer. "As a matter of fact, I don't recall ever seeing here before."

"Recently transferred from Brooklyn." Before Fin could finish questioning the officer, the elevator chimed as its doors slid open to reveal the squad room. "Have a nice day, Detective," the officer said as he pushed the broader shouldered detective out of the elevator and slammed the button panel.


	10. Chapter 9

Munch sighed heavily as he trudged along down the sidewalk, his head hung symbolically resenting the dispirited gloom that overshadowed his heart. The day had started off on the wrong foot when he woke to discover that his precious coffee pot had shorted out sometime in the night. While most people would consider it a casualty of time and use, before casually purchasing a new one on their next venture to the store; Munch felt a part of himself die as he reverently placed the dead appliance in the dumpster outside his apartment building. The coffee maker was nothing in itself special, just a common garden variety piece of machinery that afforded the common man the luxury of quick and hot liquid. But the fact that it had been a house warming present from his deceased mother and that it survived not only his turbulent college years , but four heartbreaking divorces. The one constant in his life when it abruptly shifted gears and changed directions behind his back had been that antiquated coffee maker.

His faded boots scoffed across the white sidewalk, freshly dusted with the falling snow as a rushing sea of bodies past him back and forth. Munch had scoured every department store in Manhattan and still found himself reluctantly sulking back to his cold and lonely apartment empty handed. His heart weighed heavily as he thought of his poor mother's final moments and years of pent of guilt erupted to the surface. Silent tears fell from his eyes as his mother's ashen face rose unbidden in his mind, as sharp and as clear as the very day it had been conceived. The rush of the traffic and the clamoring roar of the pedestrians surrounding him faded into nothingness as the sound of soft beeps gradually faded into existence.

The crisp, fresh snow laden New York air slowly evaporated until it was completely replaced by the bitter taste of sterilization and the perfume of medication. The winter wonderland forming all around him blurred before abruptly sharpening back into focus, gone was the white city streets with their towering light posts and welcoming green wreaths. The brightly twinkling multicolored lights abruptly morphed into large, dull fluorescent lights that illuminated bleached white walls with construction paper cut outs of holiday wreaths, mistletoe and stockings tapped along the fathomless hallway. The subtle and near non-existent roll of the motor vehicles' tires was replaced with the squeaky rolling of wheelchair tires. The corner Santa Claus faded from existence, only to be supplemented with nurses walking to and fro in their white costumes as they shepherded patients to and from appointments.

Shaking his head, Munch tore himself back to reality and froze. His eyes surveyed the vacant lot before him, seeing past the vast ocean of rubbish and debris scattered to the four corners of the parcel of fenced in land. Before his father's untimely demise, they had lived in an apartment that once stood on the now desolate lot. The old school, he and Bernie had attended, was not far from the corner on where he now perched. The memory had seemed so real to him that he had half expected to turn the corner and see his long since deceased parents waiting for him, just inside the ground floor apartment that was no longer there. Munch could almost hear his mother calling to him from within as he walked up the front stoop, "_John Munch, get your tokhes in here before you let all the heat out, we're not heating the neighborhood_!" Shortly after his father had committed suicide, his mother had shipped her two sons to Baltimore to stay with relatives and Munch hadn't seen the old apartment building again.

Munch mused silently, '_perhaps I got my early start in rebelling from Mame?'_ Shaking his head, he aimlessly wandered down the sidewalk. Stuffing his chilled hands into the pockets of his long coat, the detective's thoughts turned inward and back to the buried past in the recesses of his mind. So consumed by his thoughts and wrapped in memories from another life, Munch was oblivious to the world around him.

"_Mame, John's here." Bernie said as he gently clasped the frail looking woman's hand, "Mame, you need to open your eyes."_

"_My klein beibi, I didn't think that you would arrive in time." She said as her hand ghosted over her oldest son's face. "I was so sure that our Foter would call me to His side before you got here." She lightly scolded her wayward son, "what has kept you?"_

"_You don't want to know, Mother," Munch said as he shook his head sadly. "But needless to say, I got here as fast as I could."_

"_Translation: you caught your bad guy and shot a few rounds of pool with your buddies over a few drinks." Bernie snorted disapprovingly, ignoring the look of anger on his older brother's face._

"_Bernard Isaiah Munch, don't be such a eisl! Your Mame is lying at Death's door, save your petty bickering for when I'm cold in the ground." Mrs. Munch snapped, seemingly to spring to life in defense of her oldest before their argument could escalate. "Your brother works long and hard, laboring under a great burden to protect people and doesn't need his _own _brother making him feel any guiltier then he already is!_ Himl, _help me!"_

"_You always take his side! John should feel guilty for not getting here sooner, instead you excuse his behavior and _even _encourage it. Mame, he needs to leave the nest now before it's too late. Have you given _any _thought of what he will become once you're dead? He's already turned his back on his faith, _our _faith, what will he do next?" Bernie exclaimed, his hands slicing through the air in front of him to accent his point_.

Munch shivered, his relationship had desegrated more and more after their mother had finally passed away. Bernie had been right, he could have been a better son whilst his mother had been alive. When he had received the call from Bernie about his mame, John had thrown himself into his work with a fever and had never truly grieved for her passing. Despite Bernie's constant reminders of what a shameful child he had been to the woman who had given them both life, Munch had felt _deep_ within his bones that she had understood.

His pace quickened as the wintery wind cut through the numbness that encased his body, the _raw need_ to be around people and to be reminded that he was still alive electrified him. Turning the corner, Munch slipped into a jog as he spied a synagogue looming above the busy Manhattan street. Though not normally a religious man, he knew that there would be living, breathing people inside its walls.

Munch slipped inside the synagogue's doors, carefully keeping to the shadows hugging the walls. Head bowed, he plucked a yarmulkas from the pile on the large buffet table near the doors and slipped it onto his head. After years of abstinence, Munch felt uneasy wearing the small, curved hat as he made his way to the rows of pews. Sinking down on the pew in the last row nearest the doors, he steepled his hands together and rested his chin on them as he stared ahead of himself into oblivion. His mind flooded with images and haunting words, weighing him down underneath their sheer psyche weight. Tears threatened to rush down his cheeks as he distantly heard a sobbing gasp wrench itself free from his throat and echo in the thunderous silence.

Rocking himself back and forth softly in sit, he whimpered softly as the dead returned to haunt him and remind him of his failures. Munch longed to dig a hole in the middle of nowhere, climb inside and seal the entrance to his self-imposed entombment. The years of his life rolled away and he saw the frightened boy quivering inside of the disguise of a work-hardened law man. Looking inside of himself, Munch saw the coward that had always hidden behind the tough as nails facade that he had sculpted to show the world. Staring face-to-face with the cold reality of his self-doubt and rapidly decaying self-esteem, Munch found himself craving a good night of hard drinking. Intellectually, he knew that crawling inside of a bottle wouldn't solve his problems, that they would still be there.

Sighing heavily, Munch heaved himself back onto his feet. Entering the Jewish church had been a mistake, one that he intended to rectify as soon as he located the nearest liquor store. "May I be of assistance, my yingl?"

Looking over his shoulder, "not today Rabbi, I was just on my way out." He smiled weakly at the elderly man as he navigated his way through the lean space between pews.

"God's house is always open to His children, _especially_ the ones who suffer. You, my young friend, appear to man suffering underneath a great burden and _yet_ you refuse to share it with our creator." Stepping quickly after Munch, "there was a reason He guided your feet here today. Why not met Him halfway and let Him shoulder the heaviest portion?"

"I assure you, I'm alright." Munch protested as he stepped into the aisle, "but I _really _must go."

"What could be more important then your neschume?"

"My _soul_ is fine, Rabbi, now I have a meeting with my _friend_ Jack that I need to be getting to." Munch insisted as he hurried down the aisle, his foot catching on the carpeting. The SVU detective's arms waved frantically in the air as he plummeted face first to the floor. Munch cried out in pain as his still raw fingers slammed into the hard concrete hidden by the plush red carpet. Groaning, he rolled onto his side as he held his balled hands close to his chest.

"Oh my, here let me help you."

Munch glanced up at the offered hand through tear blurred eyes and gritted his teeth as he forced his hand to uncurl and grasp the offered appendage. Biting the inside of his lower lip, he grunted loudly as he was hauled unceremoniously onto his feet once again. "Thanks," he said softly as the bittersweet taste of coppery iron coated his mouth. Munch nodded at the gentleman standing at his right, "much obliged."

"Think nothing of it," the large portly man said with small shake of his head. "If you can't help a fellow out in a kirch. Wouldn't you agree, Rabbi?" He asked as he turned to address the congregation's leader.

"Indeed Isaac, what better place then God's own house." The rabbi said as he nodded his head. "You dropped this when you tripped," the rabbi said as he handed Munch a tan manila envelope.

Shakily, he reached out and took it. "Thanks, Rabbi," he mumbled softly. Straightening, "I should get going." Munch hurried down the aisle and towards the door, the envelope stuffed back into his coat pocket.

"You know that if you're lost, you're in the right place!" The rabbi called out to his retreating backside as Munch raced through the synagogue's doors and down its steps. Over head, the sky rumbled ominously as he tugged at his coat collar.

Munch frowned up at the dreary sky as he flagged a taxi cab down. He winced inwardly as the car squealed to a step a foot away from him. Shaking his head, he reached for the backseat car door as a hand fell on his shoulder. Swallowing a groan, "rabbi, I _really_ need to be going." Munch said as he turned his head slightly to glare at the other man.

"Sorry, but I think that you have me confused with my uncle."

"I...I...apologize. I thought that..."

"It's quite alright, he can be quite _persistent_ if given probable cause. But I stopped you because _this_ fell out of the envelope that you'd dropped."

Munch's blood froze as he looked away from the young woman's face and down at her outstretched palm, recognizing instantly the object that was innocently cradled there. He felt his legs give way beneath him as he managed to croak out a single word before the world around him went black, "Ang."

**A/N**

I am not Jewish, but I imagine that with any spiritual counselor of _any_ faith would respond in the "synagogue" scene _similar_ to what I wrote. Forgive me if it's too _religious_, but late one night I had a thought: "Knowing what I know is _going_ to take place in future chapters; Shouldn't Munch start seeking _some _kind of support from someone?" For those readers who have guessed from _previous_ chapters, you're on the right track. I hope that you stick with me as we delve deeper into the angst.

Animaltalker: Thanks for pointing a those cannon errors in your review. I fixed the age-cannon, however, I will have to go against cannon in regards to how John and Bernie's actual relationship was according to cannon Homicide: Life on the Streets. Having sibblings myself, I know that there is always a great deal of sqabbling going on in FRONT of the parents and I have tried to weave it into the flashback scene.


End file.
